


Flying Sparks

by Elveny



Series: Spark of Hope [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Break Up, Canon Divergence, Crestwood (Dragon Age), Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Friendship, Grief, Love, but not as much as to be an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-01-18 17:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21280424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elveny/pseuds/Elveny
Summary: Crestwood was supposed to be the moment of truth...
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Mage Inquisitor/Solas
Series: Spark of Hope [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1253348
Comments: 108
Kudos: 81





	1. You Made Me Believe

**Author's Note:**

> We all knew what it would come to...  
Please note that the timeline in my story is different than ingame: the breakup happens before the Temple of Mythal.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this journey so far! ♥ Your comments and kudos, your questions and love mean the world to me!  
Special shoutout to my betas Corey and [CuriousThimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble)! Without your corrections and suggestions, this would not be what it is.
> 
> Story will update on Saturdays.

Soon. A promise, given to himself, that burned in Solas' heart, flaring up every time he looked at Lyssa.

But as he healed her wounds and they left the Western Approach behind, it weighed heavier, darker, setting deep inside him. It was easier to put it aside when she was with him, when he could lose himself in her smile and touches, but as the days grew shorter, he felt the promise weigh on him, and the doubts crept back.

Should he really burden her with this? Or should he wait until the threat of Corypheus was dealt with? Was it more selfish to tell her? Or not to tell her?

_Would he lose her when she knew who he was?_

The thought grabbed ahold of him with an iron, icy grip, filling him with dread.

And so, Solas stayed silent, focusing on the moments with Lyssa that made everything else seem pale in comparison. When she looked up to smile at him, when she lay dreaming, when she lost herself in something she was doing, when she listened with that tilt of her head. When mischief twinkled in her eyes, when she was breathless, when she was flushed with lust. It was these moments that made him forget the heaviness in his heart.

He got quieter, pensive as the snow fell, sealing them within Skyhold for a few weeks, lost in thought. His hands trailed over the walls as he looked out of the window into the white, seemingly endless mountains stretching beneath them. If he concentrated, he could still feel the old magic stored in its stones, hidden in the cracks and shadows, whispering in the wind blowing through the hallways. Dreams here often brought him back to when these mountains still were the home of many of his kind, of both elvhen and spirits, the air tasting of magic.

How often had he lain awake, watching Lyssa sleep, trying to decide whether he should show her the color the sky had back then?

And yet, sometimes, he felt like she already knew, sensing the memories that dwelled just beyond the Veil. There were moments when she woke quietly, softly, and there was a longing in her eyes that spoke of distant times when she looked out over the snow-covered mountains.

A soft touch of fingers laying themselves over his brought him out of his reverie, and Solas took a deep breath, smiling as Lyssa nestled up to him from behind, resting her cheek on his back.

“You’re so quiet these days,” she murmured. He could feel the vibration of her voice against his back, a quiet hum resonating within him. Solas turned and wrapped his arms around her. One hand came to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek and jaw as she looked up at him. For a second, he hesitated, but the concern in her eyes compelled him to speak.

“I am thinking about something,” he said quietly. “I need to make a decision, and I am not sure which would be the right one.”

Lyssa looked thoughtfully up at him, and when he didn’t continue, she asked, “Can I help?”

The corner of his mouth tugged up as he caressed her face, but then he shook his head. “No. Not this time, vhenan.” He tilted her face slightly towards him, brushing a kiss on her lips. “But do not worry about me,” he murmured against her lips. “It is of no great importance right now. There is still time.”

And he held onto that thought as he kissed her and held her close. There was still time. There had to be.

Spring came, bringing the color back into the land, and the days stretched longer, the evenings and nights filled with softness and laughter, with sighs and kisses, with discussions and learning.

_There is still time, _he thought as the snow melted, and they ventured out again.

_There is still time,_ he thought as he watched Lyssa laugh at something Varric said, and something in him eased.

_There is still time, _he thought as she sat next to him when they made camp, leaning into his embrace as if she had never done anything else.

_There is still time,_ he thought as he realized that he hadn’t slept in his own room for weeks, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the thought of being alone was accompanied by unease.

_There is still time,_ he thought as he loaded his pack onto his horse and found himself ridiculously happy as Lyssa caught him looking at her and sent him a wink. Solas smiled to himself as he fastened the saddlebags.

A little quiver in the air made him look up, and he saw Cole carefully stroking the horse’s nose. As always, the animal was not bothered by him but pushed his nose into Cole’s hand with a soft snort.

“You are quiet, Solas,” the spirit said thoughtfully, tilting his head.

Solas raised his eyebrow. “Unless I have something to say, yes,” he confirmed.

But the spirit seemed unconvinced, slowly shaking his head. “No, inside,” Cole said. “I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still.”

The smile on Solas’ face faltered slightly, but Cole wasn’t done. He looked over to Lyssa, his voice getting distant as he said, “She is bright, and her brightness touches you, softening the song as you soften hers. There is a question, a future hovering on the tip of the tongue, hope, and uncertainty.” A warm softness carried beneath his voice that reminded Solas of Lyssa, and he realized that Cole picked up on a feeling, a memory. “‘Whatever shaped who you are now, I accept it because it made you the person you are, the person I love.’ But will he accept me as well?”

All of a sudden, Cole looked back to him, his eyes piercing and sharp as he said, “She has already given you her answer, Solas. Why do you keep waiting?”

Carefully, Solas renewed the barriers around his heart that had softened and let out that trickle of emotion Cole had picked up on. He straightened slightly as he did so, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of inevitability. He sighed.

“It is not that easy, Cole,” he said quietly, but Cole just frowned.

“It could be,” he said.

Lyssa, Cassandra, and Dorian mounted their horses, and Solas took a deep breath, then he heaved himself up onto his horse as well. When he looked back to where Cole had been, he saw that the spirit had disappeared again. As they slowly made their way out of Skyhold to begin the journey towards Crestwood, Solas couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said. Maybe Cole was right.

Maybe the time had come.

* * *

He brought her to the waterfalls to tell her the truth, to offer himself to her and take off the last mask he had clung to. But the words twisted around him, and the truth he spoke faltered mid-way, disappearing just like the slave markings had disappeared from her face.

There was nothing but trust and love in her eyes as she looked up at him, and he saw her unmarked face for the first time. Her beauty and open love took his breath away, and when he kissed her, it was full of longing and reverence. The moment stretched forever, it seemed, and for that endless moment, everything was possible. Solas knew it, he _felt_ it. The world seemed to hold its breath, and as he caressed her bare face, he truly realized just how much he loved her.

He would die for her.

But as she looked up at him with a smile and shimmering eyes, all her emotions written so clearly on her expressive face, he realized something else: just as he would die for her, she would try to stop it. And die in his stead.

Coldness crept into his consciousness, and his smile faltered and vanished. No. No, he could never allow this, he never should have... he had to stop it.

And so he did.

_I distracted you... it will never happen again._

He took the truth and hid it behind duty and distance, more desperately than he had intended. The time had passed.

“Solas?” So many questions in that one little word, and he shook his head, trying to get a hold of himself.

“Please, vhenan,” he whispered, stepping out of her embrace, the cool night air whipping around him.

“No, please.” Lyssa’s voice held a plea as she took a step toward him, then stopped again. “Please don’t leave me. I love you.”

_‘What was written on your gravestone?’ - ‘Being left behind.’_

Solas shook his head, holding up his hands as if to ward her off, and he could see her eyes widen as she realized that he meant it. He pressed his lips together to keep a pained groan in, taking the pain and hardening it into a shield. He should just turn and leave, he knew, but as she stood before him, he found himself unable to, bound by invisible strings. If only he could offer her _something…_ something.

“You have a rare and marvelous spirit,” he said, his voice strained as he forced himself to take another step back. “In another world...”

Lyssa shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it, following him a step before she stopped again. “Why not this one?”

Her voice quivered, and he could see the pain shimmer around her before it settled over her heart. Solas took another deliberate step back.

“I can’t,” he said, _begged_, even if he didn’t know himself what he begged for, “I can’t.” He took one last look at her, drawing breath as if he hoped that something, someone would intervene. But at the same time, he knew that it could not happen differently.

He would walk into the fires that burned this reality away, and he could not risk pulling her down there with him. _I can’t._

“I am sorry,” he stammered, his resolve breaking on the confusion and disbelief in her eyes. Lyssa’s hand hovered in the air for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together as if she was still sure she had misunderstood. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came, and as he saw her heart break, it was as if he had severed his own. Slowly, deliberately, he turned and walked away.

He had just entered the cave leading away from the clearing, away from her, when he heard the first sob.

It was a sound so full of despair, loss, and hurt that it tore him apart. Shame and immeasurable pain flooded him, knowing he was the reason for her desperation. And he had caused it intentionally. He maintained his composure until he was out of sight, then he sagged against the wall, covering his eyes with one hand, forcing himself to breathe. He could feel her pain even here, rippling through him, through all realities, adding to his own.

_Vhenan._

Tears burned in the corner of his eyes, but he did not let them fall. He did not deserve them. It was him, after all, who had caused this pain. Who had hurt her.

He lingered, hand clenched over his heart as if he could just rip it out, rip the pain, and desperate love, and the longing out and become himself again.

Fen’harel. The trickster. The Dread Wolf.

He had, after all, known, feared from the beginning that it would come to this. And yet, he had indulged himself, had given in to the illusion that he could somehow make this last. That he could somehow hold on to the happiness and love she had given him.

He pressed his lips together, the muscles in his jaw working as he listened to her quiet, anguished crying.

He shouldn't have removed her vallaslin, he told himself. It had reminded him too much of another age, another world when removing vallaslin meant another slave free from the hold of the oppressors, meant another life saved. It had reminded him of his purpose, how he had fought for a better world.

Just like now, even if she didn’t know it.

And just like he would this time, he had destroyed a world for what he had thought would be better, would be right. Seeing her freed from her slave markings had reminded him of what he had promised himself — to right this wrong, to fight until he had undone what he had caused.

Would she have joined him? Or would she have cast him aside, cursed him once she knew what he had done?

_Could she have loved the Dread Wolf?_ a cruel voice within him whispered, and he couldn't help the apprehension at it. She was a Keeper, after all, trained to defend her people from him… even if the picture she had of him, of the Dread Wolf, was nothing more than a distorted version, a legend that barely bore any resemblance to the truth. And he couldn’t help but wonder whether leaving her was just another selfishness — leave her before she would leave him when she learned the truth and came to despise him.

Solas took a deep breath, clenching his jaw. Behind him, the clearing had fallen silent, the crying had stopped. Somehow, the silence was worse than hearing her grief, wrapping itself around him and seeping into him, hollow and dark. For a second, he was tempted to go back, to look after her, to make sure she was alright, but then he shook himself and straightened, forcing himself to leave her behind. Of course she wasn’t alright, how could she be?

As every step brought him further away from her, he tried to hold on to the knowledge that this pain was just a necessary step towards a greater goal. Towards a better world, a world where she would be safe. Where she could be happy.

And until that was achieved, he needed to be in control, steering events to his advantage. It was an old ability. An ability learned throughout millennia — and which had always been less than successful where Lyssa was concerned. She had managed to surprise him in every possible way.

Deep within, he knew that that was the true reason why he had to leave her now, more than the fear of rejection or some sense of protection. She would have managed to surprise him again, in ways he never could anticipate. She already made him love her more than he had thought himself able to, and if she could do that without even meaning to, what else could she have managed if she put her mind to it?

Staying with her would mean to leave the Dread Wolf behind. And despite everything, he owed it to himself, to his people, to his world to keep his vow.

But even as he kept walking away from her, a decisive clench in his jaw, the words sounded hollow.

He was just about to take the path back to camp when a feeling of dread and coldness tingling in his neck made him stop and look back to the entrance beyond which he knew she was still grieving. He had brought her here partly because the Veil was so thin, and he had intended to show her the truth as he remembered it. But now, his impulsive decision to leave her had quite a different effect. He could feel the demon of despair closing in, drawn by her, by _their_ feelings, trying to push through the Veil.

Solas paused, for a second uncertain what to do, whether he should stay — whether he _deserved_ to stay — but then he drew his eyebrows together. Of course he would stay. He would never be able to stop trying to protect her. No matter where all of this would lead them, she'd always be a priority.

He'd take that knowledge and make it his shield.

He turned away from the path to camp and found a place nearby, shielded from view, to set his wards. With an ease he never betrayed in company, he entered the Fade to fight the demon threatening her.

"Messere Solas.”

Scout Harding greeted him as he came back to the camp a few hours later. It was already past midnight, and the sky had clouded over, the darkness deep and cold around them as the stars and moons were hidden from view. Her eyes went past him along the way he had come down, and confusion flickered over her face. Harding hesitated, clearly unsure whether she was overstepping her bounds as she asked, "Is Her Worship…?"

"I'm sure she'll be here soon,” Solas assured her in a tired, strained voice.

"But you left together,” Harding stated, brows furrowed.

"We… parted ways a while back,” he said curtly. “Now, if you'll excuse me…"

With the slightest hesitation, Harding made way for him, but he felt her eyes on him as he gathered his bedroll and clothes from the tent he had shared with Lyssa and went into one of the communal tents for the scouts. With slow, deliberate movements that betrayed his exhaustion, he made himself as comfortable as it was possible on one of the pallets. The fight with the demon had been hard, especially in his own state of mind, where he was more vulnerable than normal to its attacks. But the thought of Lyssa just beyond the Veil had spurred him on, and as the demon fled, he had thought he might be able to find some peace of mind in the knowledge that he would protect her by any means possible — even if she didn't know it.

He had been wrong, he realized now as he unrolled his bedroll and her scent filled him, rising up from everything he owned. The pain was back in an instant, gripping him with raw cruelty, and he found himself curling into himself, burying his face in the fabric, in her scent. As he inhaled deeply, his throat closed, and his eyes burned as the reality of facing the rest of his existence without her hit home.

His eyes closed tightly to keep the tears in, he tried to remember every little detail of their treasured time together. That very first look as she had woken from unconsciousness, the trust in her eyes, and the brilliant, open smile that had shaken him to the core. The softer, warm smile that spread over her face when he looked up to find her watching him. The way she looked when she woke up in the morning. The little gifts he continued to find on his desk, the way she laughed. The way she furrowed her brow when she was concentrating. Her face just before she had kissed him for the first time. The happiness in her eyes when he told her he loved her.

The way the light had left her eyes as he broke her heart.

He carried the pain with him into his dreams as sleep took him.

"Messere!"

Slowly, Solas woke. A scout was shaking him, worry written all over his face. The sun was already up but didn't have enough power to have warmed the tent yet, Solas realized as he blinked against the light, then he sat up.

“Yes?” he asked, forcing the last remnants of sleep from his mind.

The scout had taken a step back, looking nervously at him. “I humbly beg your pardon for waking you, but Scout Harding was adamant."

Solas wiped a hand over his face, frowning. ”It's alright. Report."

"It's Her Worship, messere."

This more than anything alerted every nerve in his body. Solas was already halfway into his tunic before he fully realized he had grabbed it.

"Ly— the Inquisitor?” he asked as he pulled his tunic over his head, forcing himself to stay calm, collected. He would have to get used to not calling her by her name again. "What happened?"

The scout's answer chilled him to the bone, and for a second, he could only stare at the man, frozen.

"She's missing."


	2. Tomorrow And Today

Solas stared at the scout in disbelief.

“What do you mean, she is missing?” he asked, and the man cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well, she didn’t come back to the camp last night, and when she still wasn’t here when the morning shift changed, Scout Harding ordered a search.” The scout took a step back as Solas stood and went outside, driven by a desperate unrest. Following him, the man continued, “So we traced your steps back to the cave, but she wasn’t there, either. We’re still trying to track her.”

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Solas demanded, his eyes taking in the unrest in the camp. People were coming and going, and down in the valley, he saw a scout on a horse galloping in the direction of Crestwood village, no doubt to alert Dorian and Cassandra who were hunting with the mayor. It wasn’t quite as late as he had first suspected, and the sun hadn’t managed to disperse the dew clinging to the grass and tents.

“We...” the man stammered, but he was interrupted by Scout Harding, who came towards them with a deadly serious expression on her face. The other scout made a hasty bow and quickly walked away.

“Pardon me, messere, but I thought it prudent to wait for the first scouts to return.” There was a certain hardness to her face as she looked up at him. Despite his unrest, a part of Solas noted it with approval — she had certainly drawn logical conclusions from what she had observed and followed them through. He could appreciate that. Harding was oblivious to his thoughts, and her eyes were narrow as she asked, “You were the last one who saw her, would you show us where that was?”

Solas schooled his face into a mask of calmness as he inclined his head. “Of course. Let me just get my staff.”

“I’d rather you leave it,” Scout Harding said in a clipped voice.

For a second, Solas wasn’t quite sure what she meant, then his eyes widened in understanding, and irrational anger flared up in him. “I did not hurt her,” he said sharply, but Scout Harding just raised her chin defiantly.

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind leaving it. It is just a preliminary search, after all,” she said politely.

Solas narrowed his eyes at her; then he took a deep breath. Clasping his hands behind his back, he gave her a short nod. “Of course. Let us go, shall we?”

As he brought a small group of five scouts and soldiers to where he had left Lyssa behind in the opening with the waterfalls, his anger evaporated. Harding was not wrong in her precaution. He had been the last one to have seen Lyssa, to have spoken to her. He had been evasive when he had come back, and he had deliberately separated himself from the Inquisitor. Of course she had to be suspicious.

Harding couldn’t keep a mix of disappointment and relief from her face as she looked around in the opening behind the cave. “Yes, this is where we tracked you to.”

“Did you expect anything else?” Solas asked stiffly, and she sighed.

“Forgive me, messere, but I had to be sure you wouldn’t lead us somewhere else to... hide something,” Harding said.

For a second, he didn’t answer, then he nodded. “I understand. So I take it you did not find anything amiss here?”

Harding let her eyes wander over the little lake and the waterfalls that glittered in the sun which had climbed high enough to peek over the surrounding hills. “No. We found both of your tracks coming in, but we only found your tracks leading away from here.”

He perked up. “What?” he said sharply.

Harding nodded. “Judging from the tracks, she should still be here. But she obviously isn’t. There are no animal tracks either, no blood, nothing to indicate a fight or a corpse being dragged away.”

Solas frowned at her words, instinctively letting his gaze wander over the earth around them. The way Harding spoke as if she was sure that Lyssa was dead was chilling, and for a moment, he felt uneasy on his feet. His mind raced, going through the possibilities of what could have happened, what could have made her disappear. There was no sign of a fight. He had kept the despair demon away, and when he had left her behind eventually, there had been no sign of any enemies in the vicinity, neither red templars, nor bandits, not even aggressive animals, of that he was sure.

Could he have missed something, wrapped up in his own emotions? Had someone come after her, in here?

He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. No. It couldn’t be. As Scout Harding had said, there was no sign of a fight — no churned earth, no blood, no bodies, nothing. And if there was anything he was certain of, then that Lyssa would not just let herself be taken.

“She was alive and healthy when I left her here, Scout Harding,” he said in a voice that was not quite as assertive as he would have liked it to be, and he cleared his throat. “Was there really nothing to find?”

Scout Harding hesitated for a moment, then she said, “We did find this.”

She stretched out her hand. A gleaming, silver ring lay in her hand, delicately formed. For a moment, Solas could do nothing but stare at it, a feeling of dread blossoming in his heart. Carefully, he took the ring from Harding, a muscle working in his jaw as he turned it in his fingers. Several leaves, intricately intertwined, as if branches from a beautiful, elegantly formed tree had been woven together to form a ring.

A Dalish promise ring.

Suddenly, he felt very cold, and time seemed to come to a hold. He closed his eyes as the last night at the pond came back to him, his fingers closing around the ring.

_"I've been trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me," he said, searching her eyes, his voice heavy with meaning. He was still decided to tell her, to lay himself bare before her. Lyssa was all smiles and bright eyes, a softness in her features that showed her content happiness, and the love he saw in her filled him with a desperate, fiery hope. Her fingers interlaced with his, and she came a bit closer._

_"Solas, that is not necessary,” she started, looking intently at him, a soft shine in her eyes, and a smile on her lips. “You are my…" She trailed off, but her expressive face showed him the extent of her feelings just as clearly. Solas lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. His heart pounded in his chest. This was it._

_"That is the question, is it not?" he said quietly, caressing her face._

_She closed her eyes at his tender touch, leaning into it, and his heart warmed at the sight. Then she looked at him again, and he could see that she wanted to say something — but for once, his nervousness overruled his patience, and he started speaking before she did. She deserved the truth; she had the right to know. She had the right to know everything._

Lyssa had reached for something, he had seen it. She had held something in her hand, hidden, and at one point, he had nearly asked about it — but then they had talked about the vallaslin, and the moment was gone.

The moment was gone, and he had left, cowardly and determined in the last seconds, putting the mantle of the Dread Wolf back on, hiding behind the masks she had managed to take off him.

“Is it yours?”

Scout Harding’s question threw him back into the present, and Solas blinked several times as he looked up from the ring, then he slowly shook his head.

“No,” he said so quietly that she barely understood him. It could have been his. For a second, his heart clenched painfully as the future he had let slip through his fingers flickered before his eyes. A future at her side.

But he had chosen the Dread Wolf.

Solas put his hand out to give the ring back, but before Scout Harding could take it back, a call reverberated through the clearing.

“I found her tracks!”

A scout waved down at them from where the waterfall fell into the clearing, gesturing behind him as they looked up.

Scout Harding’s eyes widened in understanding. “She climbed it!” She barked a few commands, and the soldiers and scouts that had come with them dispersed, then she looked back at Solas.

“We better go back to the camp, and... maybe it’s better if you wait there while we are working.” She gestured towards the cave entrance, and without waiting for him, she started to walk. Solas carefully pocketed the ring and followed her silently as she said, “I’m sure Lady Cassandra and Magister Pavus will be there, soon.”

As they made their way back to the camp, Solas was lost in thought, his hand tightly closed around the ring. His emotions were in uproar — concern, sorrow, and relief battling in him. This was not in the least how he had pictured any of this.

Not the crushing grief in his heart at what he had given up, nor the horrible feeling of loss, nor the terrible fear at her disappearance that he knew he was the cause of.

But then, none of this had gone how he had planned.

He had been such a fool, weak, selfish. How could he ever have thought that he could have any happiness without causing immeasurable pain to those dear to him? He should have stopped this, stopped himself months... years ago.

He stopped at the edge of the camp, looking over the valley towards the forests he could see in the distance and took a deep breath, his hand tightening around the ring until it cut painfully into his palm.

A necessary pain.

Better to stop it now than to let it go on until it would break her. Taking a deep breath, Solas closed his eyes for a moment, then he put his hands behind his back and straightened to walk back into camp.

Cassandra and Dorian arrived early the next morning. Solas was tired to the bone. When it had become clear that Cassandra and Dorian wouldn’t arrive that day after all, he had spent most of the day and all of the night working with the scouts to find Lyssa. They had found and fought another group of red templars, but to their relief, they could not find any sign that the Inquisitor had met them as well.

In fact, they could not find any sign of the Inquisitor at all anymore. It had been a whole day and night since Lyssa had disappeared from Crestwood, and so far, none of the search parties had come up with anything. Her trail went cold just beyond the former lake, and even that much had been hard to find. She clearly had made an effort to remain undetected.

Solas had finally given in to Scout Harding’s request and laid down to sleep for a few hours when Dorian and Cassandra arrived. He woke to Dorian shaking him awake, an incredulous look on the mage’s face.

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing in a community tent?” Dorian demanded.

Solas didn’t answer and sat up. “I’ll be outside in a minute,” was all he said. Dorian narrowed his eyes at him, looking as if he wanted to say something and then decided against it. With a curt nod, he went back outside.

For a moment, Solas sat on the cot, trying to shake the drowsiness. He rubbed a hand over his face and the stubble on his head, then he took a deep breath, steeling himself, and followed Dorian outside to update him and Cassandra on what had happened.

“You did WHAT?!”

Dorian was full of outrage and disbelief as he stared at Solas. Solas' face was a mask of calmness, his hands clasped behind his back. Only the white showing in his knuckles betrayed his anguish.

“I do not believe our personal affairs are your concern,” he said calmly. “And she was in perfectly good shape when I left her. There is no reason to believe she is hurt.”

Dorian abruptly stopped in his agitated pacing to take a step towards him, his fists clenched. Solas forced himself to stay where he was. He knew he deserved the other mage's rage, but he wasn't willing to show it.

“You pointy-eared asshole,” Dorian hissed, anger sparking in his eyes. “Not hurt? NOT HURT? After you just up and left her without warning or reason?!”

His voice had become louder and louder until he nearly shouted. The rest of the camp had become suspiciously quiet, and too many Inquisition agents pointedly looked away or were immensely busy with whatever they had in their hands.

Solas narrowed his eyes at Dorian and slightly raised his chin, but otherwise, he did not move a muscle. His voice was calm and collected as he responded, “Again, this is not your con-“

“Of course it is!” Dorian spat. “She’s my friend! And she is missing!”

Before he could say anything else, Cassandra took a quick step forward, laying a hand on Dorian's shoulder to pull him away from Solas.

“Calm down, Dorian. Yelling won't change anything right now,” she chided, but the fiery look she shot Solas told him that she wasn't calm herself by any means.

“Kaffas,” Dorian growled, throwing his hands in the air, and Cassandra gave him an annoyed look as he walked away to look over the landscape. Solas let out a silent breath, relaxing infinitesimal. For a few moments, the only sound that could be heard was the incredibly cheery chirping of a bird somewhere above, and the shuffling of feet here and there.

“Back to work,” Cassandra called out after a disapproving look over the campsite and the too obviously uninterested scouts. “We still have to find her, so get out there!”

“Yes, Lady Cassandra!” Hastily, the agents and scouts took up their work, resuming conversations and plans, and one or two even leaving the camp.

Another silence fell. Solas clenched and unclenched his hands, then he sighed. “I thought you of all people would approve of focusing on our fight against Corypheus,” he said, if only to break the ominous silence.

“I do. In theory,” Cassandra conceded, glowering at Solas. “If it means, however, that the Inquisitor goes missing, I cannot.”

Solas hung his head with a silent sigh.”You are not also suggesting that I hurt her, are you?” he asked quietly, and after a second, she sighed and shook her head.

“No. I do not believe you could even if you wanted to,” she said, pointedly ignoring Dorian’s scoff as she searched his eyes. He held her gaze, then inclined his head to her. Even after more than two years, the Seeker's insights we remarkably on point. “And there was a trail,” she continued, “even if it went cold. So it is just not possible that you did her any harm. Not physically, at least.”

This time, Solas couldn't help but flinch, and he hung his head, clenching his teeth.

“Do not think I won't hold you accountable, though, if anything happens to her,” Cassandra added with a scowl, and Solas looked up again. For a second, he held her gaze, then he nodded.

“I understand,” he answered. He couldn't blame her. In fact, if anything were to happen to her, he wasn't sure he'd want anything less.

Dorian stomped back to them, still glaring at Solas.

“Did you wait until she proposed or—“ He stopped mid-sentence as he saw the look of pure agony on Solas' face, and his rage flamed up anew. “You did, didn’t you?” he sneered. “She asked you to marry you, and you decl—“

“No,” Solas interrupted him, more loudly than intended. Dorian looked taken aback, and a bit more quietly, Solas repeated, “No. There was no proposal. I...” He shook his head, once, twice, then he added more softly, “It didn’t come to that.”

“Ha!” Dorian exclaimed and somehow managed to add a sneer to it.

“By the Maker,” Cassandra murmured and shook her head sadly.

Solas took the ring out of his pocket. It was still warm from his perpetual touch as he opened his hand to let them see it.

“We found it afterwards,” he said quietly.

“You honestly didn't know, did you?” Dorian asked, and Solas looked up to meet his eyes. Something in Dorian's voice told him that this time, he hadn't been able to hide his feelings from the others. The Tevinter was still angry, that much was clear, but there was something else in his features as he looked at Solas. Pity. Incomprehension. Consternation.

“Kaffas,” he cursed under his breath. “Why did you leave her if you still love her?”

Solas didn't bother to answer and focused instead on schooling his face again. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Cassandra. "I will go into the Fade and try to locate her there. She is a mage, and the rifts here have weakened the Veil. There might be some spirits who have sensed her and are willing to help."

Cassandra sighed and nodded her agreement. Dorian just shook his head.

“I do hope that whatever it is that made you leave her is truly worth it,” he said as Solas walked away.

Solas hoped it as well. He had to.


	3. The Wait

Nothing.

Three days, and there was still nothing. No trace, no report, no Inquisitor.

“We can’t do anything else,” Cassandra said. “Not from here.” There was a deep line in the corner of her mouth as she pressed her lips together, proof of the strain on her. Dorian kept pacing, unhappiness written on his face. He looked like he wanted to argue, but every time he started to speak, he interrupted himself again. Eventually, he sat down with a heavy sigh and nodded.

“I hate to say it, but you’re right. She’s obviously not coming back.” He raked a hand through his normally so carefully kept hair, then narrowed his eyes at Solas. “What in the Maker’s name did you do to her? Huh?”

Solas stood calmly at the entrance to the tent in which they had talked and planned these last few days. He did not answer Dorian, fully aware that the question was just meant to rattle him and that the mage did not actually expect a response. But not even he could keep the worry fully out of his features as he looked outside into the heavy rain that had been falling for the last day or two. The thought of her outside, alone, in such weather... He took a deep breath to shake the thought; then he looked back at Cassandra and Dorian.

“She might not come back  _ here _ , true, but I don’t think that the Inquisitor would just abandon us now,” he said.

Dorian scoffed. “Is that so?”

Solas just nodded. “Yes. She... she does not turn her back on people who need her.”

Cassandra looked at him and folded her arms, but Dorian muttered with barely veiled malice, “No,  _ she _ doesn’t.”

Solas ignored him and fixed his gaze on the Seeker. His voice was quiet and collected as he spoke, “It would take more than, well,  _ me _ to make her turn her back on the cause.”

Dorian opened his mouth, undoubtedly to throw some insult at him, but Cassandra spoke before he could. “So you believe that she’ll rejoin the Inquisition?”

Solas inclined his head. “I do. I think she just... needs time for herself. To be alone,” he said.

Dorian glared at him, but when he spoke, he admitted grudgingly, “You might be right there. Lyssa has never dealt well with processing her emotions while in company.” Another sigh. “Let’s hope it’s really only that.”

The Seeker nodded thoughtfully, then she straightened. “Very well. I think you’re right, and if we are indeed, there is no need to linger here further. We still have a few hours daylight, so let’s make the best of it and break camp. She has nearly five days on us. Even on foot, she might make it to Skyhold before us if we stay longer.” She was already on her way outside as she added, “And if she is on her way there, we might overtake and find her. So let’s not waste any more time.”

The tent flap fell shut as she marched outside, and just a moment later, Solas followed, unwilling to give Dorian the opportunity to tell him off yet again. The rain was cold for this time of the year, and he shivered as it fell on his head and ran down his neck into his collar. He was glad they would finally leave Crestwood. While they remained, his dreams were filled with her and those last moments together, when he had still believed that everything would be well. Before he had taken the slave markings from her, before he had hidden away behind the masks. Maybe going back to Skyhold and the work that never ceased to come would help.

Maybe.

* * *

They arrived in Skyhold a week later, without the Inquisitor.

Cullen awaited them in the courtyard. A quick look at the small party answered his unspoken question before they did, and his face grew somber.

“We have news,” he said. “Cassandra, please join us in the War Room.” 

She gave him a curt nod and immediately dismounted to fall in stride with him.

Dorian called after them, “You’ll let us know later, yes?” But neither Cullen nor Cassandra gave him an answer, and he cursed before dismounting himself. Solas could not blame him. He felt the same anxiousness as Dorian, possibly even more so, but he kept silent as he took his pack from his horse and went to his room.

The room had the dusty, cold air of a place that hadn’t been heated nor properly used in weeks. He slowly closed the door behind him and activated the ward, letting his gaze wander through the room. The bed was made, and a book he had forgotten he had started to read lay on the bedstand.

Taking a deep breath, Solas walked inside and lit the fire with a gesture. Slowly, he put his pack and staff onto the bed and unclasped his cloak as he sat down on the cool blanket. For a second, he gave in to the exhaustion in his limbs, and his head sank forward with a sigh.

Pressing his palms onto his eyes, he murmured, “Please, vhenan, be safe.”  _ Please. _

He was sure that his assessment was right, that Lyssa hadn’t left the Inquisition to disappear for good, but despite his trust in her abilities, there was still the fact that she was out there alone. And he could do nothing to help her. Even if he could, she might not want his help any longer. He could only hope that she would be back safely soon.

* * *

Cassandra put both her hands on the war table, and her fingers drummed impatiently on the map. "So, what do we have? Have you received our reports?"

Leliana nodded. “Scout Harding knows what she’s doing,” she said. “I am sure that if she and her scouts didn’t find anything, there was nothing to be found.”

Cassandra furrowed her brow. “But Cullen said you have news.”

The Commander stepped forward. “And so we do. It seems the Inquisitor was faster than anticipated. The first report about her reached us the day you finally left Crestwood.”

“She was five days missing by then,” Cassandra said. “By now, it’s been two weeks. Even on foot, she shouldn’t be far.” She couldn’t keep the anxiousness from her voice as her eyes wandered over the map. “What did the report say?”

“Reports,” Josephine corrected her, looking on her slip of paper. “There’s more than one. Well, we have one report from a tavern barkeep that she stayed the night, and two reports of rifts being closed. According to the barkeep, Lyssa was looking tired but overall alright. She came in late and left early.”

Leliana indicated the places on the map. “They are approximately in a line towards Skyhold, but so far nothing further down the direct road. The last one is two days old, so it seems that she is still unharmed.”

“That is at least something,” Cassandra murmured, relaxing somewhat. “So, chances are that she is indeed on her way here. Then Solas was right, she has indeed not abandoned the Inquisition."

Cullen furrowed his brows, and the advisors exchanged a glance.

“Talking of Solas...” Josephine started, hesitant, but Cassandra just shook her head, suddenly looking very tired.

“Don’t ask me, Josephine. I have no idea what exactly happened. He said he felt it prudent that they concentrate on Corypheus, but to be honest, that’s the worst excuse for a breakup I’ve ever heard.” She shrugged somewhat helplessly. “Something must have gone seriously wrong between them. I certainly didn’t expect anything like this when we traveled to Crestwood.”

For a moment, silence fell between them. Josephine looked sadly at Cassandra, then she sighed and said, "It's been thirteen days now. The direct line on foot would be approximately eighteen days, and she obviously isn't going in a direct line, so…" She let her notepad sink down and looked at the others with a look close to hopelessness. "Honestly, I don't know what else we can do? She obviously doesn't want to be found — which I can sympathize with, in her situation — and with her history, she knows how to hide. What else can we do but wait?"

“Well,” Cullen mused thoughtfully, “if she’s closing rifts on her way here, we can use that. If we take the last rift she closed and extrapolate from there, we can focus our search on an area much closer to Skyhold than we originally thought." He drew a circle around the area on the map. “We know of a few rifts. We could position guards there and just wait until she shows up there.”

"Or we could just give her the time she needs," Josephine said quietly.

“Finally someone with a decent thought in her head," Dorian exclaimed, throwing the door wide open as he strutted in uninvited. Cullen sighed annoyed and rubbed two fingers over the bridge of his nose.

Dorian saw his expression and scoffed. "Really, did you think I would just let you storm off and obediently wait until you deigned us worthy of knowing the news about our friend? Keep up, featherfur!"

"Why am I not surprised?" Cassandra groaned while Leliana and Josephine exchanged a look that said more than words. Josephine suppressed a smile.

“As I was saying," Dorian shot into the round. "Lady Montilyet seems to be the only one who has her brains about her. As our darling ambassador so eloquently put it, if Lyssa doesn't want to be found, she won't. She's been a mage in hiding her whole life, and she was with the Dalish.” He raised both eyebrows as he looked around the table. “Do you honestly think you would have even what you have if she hadn't deliberately left clues for you to find?” With a slight nod towards Leliana, he added, “No offense to the skills of your agents, Leliana.”

Cullen cleared his throat and shifted his weight as he looked back down on the map. "I hadn't thought of it that way," he confessed.

"Of course not," Dorian said and rolled his eyes, folding his arms before his chest.

"So you propose to… do nothing?" Cassandra furrowed her brow.

"Exactly. When she hasn't come back in another week or the reports stop coming in, you can still search the area with a fine-toothed comb."

For several moments, they just looked at each other until Leliana sighed and shrugged. "So, it's decided then," she said, and after some hesitation, the others nodded. 

* * *

“I hate waiting,” Cullen muttered two days later, staring down at the map. Leliana turned back to him from where she had looked out of the window into the sunlit courtyard. Cullen frowned. “It feels wrong.”

Josephine looked up from her notes and nodded with an unhappy sigh. “I know what you mean. And the rumors are getting worse. I had a group of nobles yelling at each other in my office yesterday, all of them certain we were trying to cover up the Inquisitor’s death.”

“There are similar worries down in the village and among the soldiers,” Leliana added darkly as she walked back to the war table. “Maybe we should send out our soldiers and scouts after all, if only to appease the masses. Give them some—“

She was interrupted by a short, sharp knock at the door before it opened without anyone having said anything. Cullen shot the soldier a furious look. “We are not to be—“

“Apologies, Commander,” the woman interrupted him impatiently, ignoring the way his eyebrows shut upwards at the impertinence, “news from the Inquisitor.”

“What!” he exclaimed, and the woman stepped aside, waving to someone behind her. “I thought you might want to talk to him directly.”

A very hesitant Dalish came in, head held high. His eyes darted from one to the next until they settled on Leliana who came towards him.

“I have a message for the Inquisition,” he said cautiously, obviously put on edge by the sudden and concentrated attention on him.

“By the Inquisitor herself?” Cullen asked impatiently, and the elf looked at the soldier who had brought him in. She nodded vigorously, and he turned back to the war council.

“By a sister of ours from the Lavellan clan, yes. She asked us to tell you that she is undertaking Vir Bor'assan, but she will be back before the moon is full once more.”

Leliana looked to the others. “That is in ten days.”

“So she is indeed on her way back,” Josephine breathed, her face full of relief that betrayed how worried she had been after all. “Thank the Maker.”

“When did you talk to her?” — “Where did you meet her?” Cullen and Leliana asked at the same time, and the elf looked taken aback.

“I have talked to her last six days ago,” he said, but when Leliana repeated her question about where they had met, he shook his head. “That is clan's concern and not my place to disclose.” His face closed in a way that told them that he would not answer any questions concerning the clan. “She promised compensation for the message."

Leliana looked at the soldier. “See to it that he is given whatever he demands,” she said and inclined her head to the Dalish. “Thank you.”

Cullen waited until the door closed behind the soldier and the elf before he turned to Leliana. “We should question him! Are you really letting him go?”

Leliana just nodded. “We are. Do you honestly want to tell the Inquisitor that we held her messenger against his will?”

“No,” Cullen admitted, but it was clear that he didn't like it.

“But, what is Vir…” Josephine looked down at her notes, “Vir Bor'assan?”

She had barely finished her sentence when the door opened again, and Dorian and Varric came in. “See, told you she would be back,” the Tevinter exclaimed.

“Did he tell you anything else but that she is doing the Vir Bor’assan?” Varric asked, a mix of curiosity and worry on his face.

Leliana let out a slow breath. “So, who knows about it already?”

Varric and Dorian exchanged a look, and the dwarf chuckled. “Come on, Nightingale, did you really think that someone could come in here, tell the first solid news about Lyssa in what, three weeks, and it would not make its round before you all even knew about it?”

She sighed but seemed unsurprised. “Not really, no. And to answer your question, no, he did not. Varric, you have a Dalish friend, do you know what the Vir...” She made an impatient gesture at the unfamiliar word, “... what that is?”

Varric shook his head with an apologizing look. “Daisy hasn’t really talked much about Dalish traditions, I’m afraid. I think it’s some sort of training?”

"Maybe we should ask our damned heartbreaker," Dorian said and smirked in a rather unpleasant way. "Want me to do the honors?"

"No need," Solas said from behind him and came in through the open door, pointedly ignoring Dorian, who shot him an icy look. As usual, he had a regal and undisturbed air about him, but the fact alone that he got the information and came to talk to them by himself spoke volumes. 

"I heard about the messenger and what he said and assumed you would need some background. Vir Bor'assan is part of the elven philosophy Vir Tanadhal, the Way of the Three Trees, taught to Dalish hunters in honor of their goddess Andruil. Normally, a Keeper, as Ly— as the Inquisitor was trained to be, would not—"

"Just get to the point," Dorian interrupted, and Solas narrowed his eyes at him. For a second, an unpleasant silence fell, then Solas took a breath.

"Very well," he said. "Vir Bor'assan is the Way of the Bow — bend but never break. I believe she is undertaking a personal… quest, if you want, to train herself in endurance."

"I wonder why that would be necessary." Dorian's voice dripped acid, but again, Solas ignored him.

"I am unfamiliar with the exact details myself, but I do believe the Dalish agent we met in the Exalted Planes might give further information," he said while looking at Leliana, then he excused himself and left the War Room.

Solas carefully made his way through the excitedly gossiping nobles in the main hall back to his study, closing the door behind him. The news would make its way through Skyhold in no time, but he had no interest in participating in it. There was news. That was all that mattered for the moment.

Sitting down, he tried to focus back on his research on Corypheus, but all he could do was stare at the words on the parchment, the letters blurring to meaningless nonsense in front of his eyes. He had spoken the truth when he had said that he was unfamiliar with the exact details of the Vir Bor'assan nowadays, but from what he had learned about the Dalish, he was certain that they had been able to maintain the very essence of the ancient custom. For a moment, he covered his eyes with one hand, a futile try to shove the emotions raging through him back down again.

Back in his time, the Vir Bor’assan had involved prolonged torture, both physical and psychological, to weed out any emotion and weakness. Bend but never break. Andruil's elite soldiers had been trained in that way, and they had been the epitome of cruelty. Without remorse, without pity and going onwards even with a mortal wound until they collapsed dead on the battlefield, they had slaughtered hundreds of thousands.

He knew the Dalish had no such emotionless soldiers, so the Vir Bor'assan obviously was no longer the same. But judging from what he knew, he supposed that it was still designed to entail pain. A lot of pain. And Lyssa was submitting herself to it.

Solas' hand cramped around the parchment before him as he closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of emotional weakness, the pain and remorse crashing over him like a burning wave.

_ What have I done? _

Then he took a deep breath and smoothed the parchment again, pushing his emotions back down, deep down.

_ Focus. _

  
  
  



	4. Bend, Never Break

“Inquisitor?”

The scout’s voice was hesitant as he stopped a few meters away from her and looked at her with wide eyes. Lyssa let out a breath that seemed to hold the weight of the world and nodded. She had seen him before he saw her, but this time, she had just waited for him to notice her instead of going into hiding to wait until they were out of sight. She knew it was time to go back, to finish what she had come to accept as her burden. Time to leave the woods and solitude behind her, to exchange the quietness and cold nights for the bustle of Skyhold and all it entailed. A part of her even looked forward to coming back to Skyhold — if only to get her wounds finally properly dressed and to take a long, hot bath; all the little comforts she had gotten used to over the time.

Even if it meant having to face Solas again.

The thought still left a trail of dripping darkness in her soul, small stings of emptiness that all the time alone hadn't been able to erase.

The scout immediately saluted, but there was a mix of doubt and concern in his face as he looked at her. “Inquisitor, you’re... hurt! Do you need assistance?”

Lyssa shook her head. “No,” she said softly, pausing at hearing her voice for the first time in what felt like weeks. She cleared her throat and repeated, “No. Thank you. It is just a few hours further to Skyhold. I can make it from here.”

But the man seemed unconvinced, openly worried now. He took a careful step towards her as he made a gesture in the direction from where he had come. “We have a camp just beyond the hill, Inquisitor. There are potions and horses at your disposal.” A plea was in his voice as he added, “Please, your Worship.”

She looked at him for a moment; then she gave him a little smile, touched by his concern. She could see that he really wanted to help her, saw the honesty in his eyes as he offered her an open hand. “Very well,” she said softly, and relief spread over his face. “Thank you. Please show me the way...” She trailed off with an unasked question, and the man stood to attention.

“Tobias, your Worship. Tobias Holler. This way.” He stood to the side and waited until she had caught up with him, then led her to the Inquisition camp. As they walked beneath the dark trees in silence, Lyssa caught him looking at her several times, curiosity and concern battling in his face, but she didn’t offer him any information, and he didn’t dare to ask. 

Two other scouts looked up as they neared the camp, and both jumped up as they recognized her.

“Inquisitor!” One of them hurried towards them, while the other immediately grabbed a tiny piece of paper and scribbled something onto it. The woman who had come towards them fell onto her knees before her. “Your Worship,” she breathed, and Lyssa could hear her voice tremble. “You’re back! Thank the Maker.”

“I never left,” Lyssa answered quietly, and the scout quickly looked up again, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I was just out of sight for a while.”

“Gemma, get up,” Tobias hurried to say, seeing the slight flinch on Lyssa’s face. “Can’t you see the Inquisitor needs a potion?”

Gemma’s eyes widened as she took Lyssa’s appearance in, and she immediately came back to her feet. Behind her, a raven with a message bound to her foot flew up from where the third scout had released her, circled once over the camp with a hoarse _caw caw_, and then flew off towards Skyhold.

“Of course, at once!” Gemma didn’t wait for Lyssa’s reaction and hurried towards one of the tents. 

While the scouts fussed over her, bringing her a health potion and offering her every bit of food they had with them, Lyssa barely found the strength to refuse them. But after she had eaten something and the cool tingle of magic from the potion had brought some strength back into her limbs, she warded off every question and offer and asked for one of their horses. Barely an hour after she had met Scout Holler, she left the little camp and the three scouts behind and was riding towards Skyhold.

It was already late afternoon when she reached the keep in the mountains. Despite the message the scout had sent, she had the luxury of remaining unrecognized within the groups of people and carts undertaking the journey to Skyhold. Since she had left without her weapons or armor, she had been re-equipped by the clan she had found, and nobody gave a rogue Dalish in traditional armor a second glance. Not even her staff raised many eyebrows.

That changed as soon as she entered the courtyard, though.

“Is that the Inquisitor?” one person asked loudly as she dismounted and her hood fell down.

“She’s here!” another person exclaimed. “She’s back!”

A stable girl ran towards her and took her horse, and Lyssa gave it a small smile before she turned to walk towards the upper courtyard. Nearly involuntarily, her shoulders hunched up as she tried to ignore the too many people around her, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

“What’s with her face?” she heard someone whisper and her stomach clenched. For a second, she faltered in her steps, but then she squared her shoulders and kept walking, keeping her eyes to the ground. Not for the first time, she felt weirdly naked. She hadn’t looked at herself yet, but it still felt wrong not having her vallaslin. Every time she touched her face and didn’t feel the delicate, raised markings on her skin, she was reminded of the night at the waterfalls, and heart-wrenching grief welled up in her. But she was also reminded of her long talk with the Keeper and the hahren of the helping clan, and how they had promised to look closer into the matter of the blood writing being actually slave markings. She’d have to get in touch with them soon.

Shouts and whispers accompanied her on her way to the stairs, then something flickered next to her, and Cole appeared, looking at her with sad eyes.

“You’re back,” he said, and Lyssa nodded tiredly without stopping. All she wanted was to reach her room to change and wash and tend to her wounds. Maybe eat something before going back to work.

“But something stayed behind. Beneath the waterfalls...” Cole wondered, his voice weaving a soft melody into the air that plucked painfully at her heart, and abruptly, Lyssa stopped and raised a hand.

“Stop it, Cole,” she said firmly, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. “Please.” She looked at the spirit, wanting to say more, but the words curdled on her tongue. Despite everything, she still felt raw. Eventually, she settled for a simple “Go.”

Cole flickered and vanished again. Nearly at the same time, Cassandra reached her. “You’re back!” the warrior exclaimed, relief written all over her face before it was replaced by worry as her eyes scanned the dried blood on Lyssa’s armor and skin, the wound on her shoulder and cheek, the scratches on her arms. “What happened?”

“Terror demon,” Lyssa only said and managed to give Cassandra a small, tired smile. “I’ll explain what I can as soon as I’ve cleaned myself up.”

“Of course,” the warrior nodded immediately and tried to put an arm around Lyssa’s waist to support her, but she shook her head.

“I’ll make it by myself, tha—,” she started, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Oh, just let her help you, you stubborn old hag. You look like you’ve just crawled out of a dog fight pit.”

Lyssa couldn’t help but smile at her friend, who hurried down the stairs to meet them. “Hello, Dorian.”

He only snorted, unceremoniously taking her arm. “Come on now. Let’s get you to the infirmary. Or maybe the baths first. You stink.”

For a moment, Lyssa still hesitated, then she decided it was easier to just give in to his fussing. Fighting demons was easier than fighting Dorian. Cassandra nodded, and this time, Lyssa didn’t say anything when she supported her on her way up. Dorian shooed the gathering people out of their way as they came into the Great Hall.

His gaze was like the whisper of a flame against her skin, and she shivered, involuntarily looking up.

Solas.

And there he was, standing in the door leading into the rotunda, half-hidden behind a bunch of people lining the way. For an endless moment, their eyes met, and she could see the pain on his face, the relief, the regret, the grief. Her breath caught in her throat, and despite herself, Lyssa felt a sliver of hope. It must have shown on her face, for Solas looked stricken. Then he averted his eyes and turned away, and the pain that shot through her was worse than anything she had anticipated.

_Bend, never break._

She purposefully moved her shoulder so that the wound there cracked open again, blood trickling down beneath her shirt, hot and painful, and she flinched. When she looked back at the door, he was gone.

“I’m glad you’re back with us, Ember,” Varric said, and Lyssa focussed her attention on the dwarf, giving him a small smile despite the burning in the back of her throat as it threatened to close with unshed tears.

“Thank you, Varric. I’m sorry to have worried you all so,” she said softly, but he just shook his head.

“Don’t you think about that now. You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

“Inquisitor!” Josephine’s voice nearly cracked at the word, and Lyssa looked up to see her ambassador hurrying towards them. The Antivan came to a halt in front of her, looking on the verge of tears, and seemed to stop herself just so from hugging her. Instead, she cleared her throat and immediately went into work mode as she ushered them towards the stairs that led to Lyssa’s quarters. “I’ve ordered a bath and a hot meal is being readied in your rooms. And I will see to it that a healer will be with you shortly,” she said as she fell in stride with them. “There will be no meetings or hearings for the next two days, I figured you needed some time to… well. Settle in again.”

Lyssa nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Josephine. But that won’t be necessary. Just give me an hour or so to clean up, and then you can brief me on what happened while I was away and what to do next.”

“What? No way!” — “Surely, that is not...” — “Inquisitor…” Dorian, Josephine, and Cassandra started simultaneously, and Lyssa flinched at the sudden noise, holding up a hand in defeat.

“Alright, alright, please just… alright,” she said, and Josephine looked at her apologetically.

“Take today at least,” the ambassador pleaded. “And I will come to you for breakfast tomorrow, then we’ll see.”

Lyssa let out a breath and gave in. She nodded. “Alright,” she murmured, then Dorian and Cassandra accompanied her up to her room, leaving the buzz of talking people behind them. Josephine stayed behind in the Great Hall, undoubtedly putting off diplomats and nobles who had heard of the Inquisitor’s return to Skyhold.

They climbed the stairs quietly, every step taking them further into the cool silence of the tower until the heavy doors of the Inquisitor’s quarters fell close behind them and shut the last sounds from the Great Hall out.

With a sigh, Lyssa sat down on the bed, closing her eyes for a moment as she felt the exhaustion heavy in her limbs. Cassandra looked at Dorian, and both seemed to be uncertain what to do next.

“It’s alright,” Lyssa said as she caught them exchanging a worried look, touched by their concern. “I’ll be alright. I’ll just lie down until the healer arrives.”

“I don’t like the idea of you staying alone right now,” Dorian retorted bluntly, but Lyssa just raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was alone for the last three weeks.”

“Four,” Cassandra interjected, and Lyssa blinked.

“That long?” she asked hesitantly after a moment.

Cassandra nodded grimly, and Lyssa looked down on her hands for a second. She had obviously lost more than the one day she didn’t remember. Then she shook her head.

“Well, point stands,” she finally said, “I’ll manage. And I wasn’t alone for the whole time, for a few days, I was with the clan. Also, I’m gonna undress now, and I know that at least you, Dorian, are far too squeamish to help me with that.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “I prefer the term ‘modest’ but you are not wrong. I could turn around, though.”

Lyssa raised an eyebrow, and he coughed again, turning a slight pink. Cassandra looked at him and rolled her eyes.

“Ugh,” she grumbled, and without prompting, she started to help Lyssa open the buckles of her armor. With a little squeak, Dorian swirled around and pretended to be intensely fascinated by the books on her shelf.

“You really don’t have to,” Lyssa protested weakly, but Cassandra shook her head.

“I’ve seen the way you move. I’ll help.”

With a sigh, Lyssa gave up any resistance and gave herself to her friends’ care. Cassandra helped her out of the armor and grimaced when she saw the way Lyssa’s shirt clung to several wounds and cuts. The slash on her shoulder was the worst, where the terror demon’s claws had penetrated all the way through, but it was by no means the only one. Deep cuts and bruises covered most of her torso, and several smaller cuts were on her arms and legs. A particularly nasty one gaped on her cheek, green discoloration surrounding it.

“How long ago was the attack? These don’t look fresh,” the warrior asked grimly. Dorian risked a look over his shoulder at her.

“A week ago, I think,” Lyssa murmured and ripped the shirt from a dried cut without flinching. She had done that often enough. Dorian just shook his head with a grim look on his face. “I kept the infection at bay, but I had no potions or bandages, and healing while you have to keep moving is... difficult. I’ll heal more quickly now,” she assured them, but Cassandra didn’t seem convinced.

“You really shouldn’t have left,” she grumbled as she put the armor to the side. “Was that Vir Bor... that ritual — or whatever it is — really worth it?”

“Vir Bor’assan, the way of the bow,” Lyssa provided quietly, avoiding their eyes. “And yes. It was worth it.”

When she had left Crestwood on a whim, shaken by grief and heartbreak after hours of shocked tears and unanswered questions, she had only known that she needed to focus, remembering how to only rely on herself. It had been pure luck that she had found the clan’s signs and caught up with them shortly afterwards. For two days, she had let herself fall into the warmth and familiarity of clan life, talking with the Keeper and the hahren for hours about everything she had learned on her travels with the Inquisition and from Solas — and about the vallaslin specifically. When she had finally brought herself to prepare for returning to the Inquisition, it had been the Keeper who had proposed the Vir Bor’assan.

It was the first part of a coming-of-age quest that every warrior and hunter undertook, turning to the forest alone and without supplies, far from the clan and any aid. Only a fighter who knew themselves could be relied upon by others. When they came back, they had gotten to know their own limits and how to push themselves beyond them. 

_Bend, never break._

Lyssa had talked with the clan’s Warmaster about it in great length, detailing what to do and how to deal with the Vir Bor'assan in general. It was very unusual for a non-warrior to undertake it, and most had a watcher who interfered when things got too dangerous or out of hand. She hadn’t had someone watching over her, but that was just as she had wanted it to be. Remembering to only rely on herself.

It was supposed to be a quiet, meditative journey.

The first few days in the forest had been uneventful — then she had found the first rift. Something inside her was drawn to them, made her magic and the mark tingle like sparks down her spine, and she unfailingly found them, even without meaning to. The green tear in reality had hovered in the air behind a turn of the way, bubbling with magic and spewing demons before she could back away.

It had been a hard fight, and it wasn’t the only one that awaited her. She had found three more rifts during her journey, and every one had added to her assortment of injuries. She was pretty sure that her magic had been the only thing that had kept her alive.

Still, she couldn’t regret it. It had helped to put things into perspective, and it had reminded her of things about herself she had forgotten. She had learned that she was able to withstand constant pain and still get up again and fight another day. Literally. She had remembered how to push beyond her own limitations. She had learned how to accept the trembling of overtired limbs and even draw strength from there.

A lot of it had a familiar touch to it, bringing her back to the time when she had stumbled towards Ostwick after fleeing Ferelden with her sick mother on her arm. One day, she even had been so delirious that she had talked to her dead mother.

She only remembered bits and pieces of that day. A cold, drizzling night that had turned into a rainy day. The pounding rain and the way she had stumbled through mud, the feeling of a cough that was stuck in her breast. She had thought she’d seen her mother next to her, even laid an arm around her, pulling her onwards, knowing she had to get her to safety. But when she had reached a tree with branches big enough to keep the worst of the rain away, there had been nobody in her arm. She remembered falling asleep shivering and hungry, feeling her mother’s hand on hers but seeing nobody whenever she blinked. Reality had only come crashing down on her again when she had woken to a terror demon falling upon her, screeching, and a rift beyond it.

_Bend, never break._

And in a way, she had come to appreciate the immediacy of physical pain, breaking through the daze her wounded heart put on reality. It was not to be ignored, not when the cuts were deep enough.

She was stronger now. She felt stronger. When she could make it this far, she’d make it past the pain. Some day.

It wasn’t long until servants brought hot water to fill the tub in her bathroom, adding ground elfroot to it, obviously at Healer Layanna’s request, who followed shortly afterwards, shooing Dorian and Cassandra out of the room against Dorian’s vocal protest.

“It’s really not that bad,” Lyssa said when the door fell shut, drawing on some of her magic to stop the bleeding in her shoulder.

“’It’s only a flesh wound’ said the warrior when he lost both of his legs and was never again able to fight.” Layanna shook her head with a disapproving look at Lyssa and let the leather bag she had brought with her slump on a small table. Inside, small glass flasks could be heard rattling against each other. “So, let me see.”

With the unceremonious efficiency of a healer, Layanna helped Lyssa get rid of her shift and underclothes, pressing her lips together as she saw the wounds on her body. “We need to clean these properly before I can heal them,” she said after a short examination. She went and filled a basin with hot water, adding some potion from her bag to the water, then she carefully cleaned the wounds so she could treat them.

When she had finished her work — closing what was possible with her magic and applying stitches to the others — Layanna examined the wounds and then nodded. “Let’s get you to the bath. Do you need help?”

Lyssa took a deep breath, then she shook her head. "I don't think so, no."

She carefully straightened and slowly got up from the bed. How come she had been able to push herself through this whole thing up until now, and when all she needed to do was continue, she felt so tired? She had barely made it to a standing position when the room started to spin, and she instinctively grabbed for Layanna's arm.

Layanna had her arm ready when Lyssa grabbed it. “Don’t fret, I’m here,” she murmured, holding onto her as she guided her to the steaming bathtub and carefully helped her in.

Lyssa flinched slightly as she felt the sting of the hot water on her battered body, but after a moment, she closed her eyes with a content, tired sigh. She had forgotten what bliss a hot bath meant. For a while, she just enjoyed the relaxing feeling of soothing heat on her muscles, feeling like a whole riverbed of mud, dried blood, and stink came off her. Layanna seemed to sense that she was not in the mood for talking and quietly helped her, loosening her hair and helped her wash it so Lyssa wouldn’t open the new stitches. It was a peaceful silence, and Lyssa was grateful for it.

When Lyssa came out of the bath, Layanna rubbed some elfroot oil into her sore muscles, then she dressed her wounds and helped her into some clothes. She was just packing her bag when Lyssa said, "Listen, can you tell Josephine that I'm fine and ready to go back to work? She'll want to know."

Layanna gave her a look that spoke volumes. “I will do no such thing, Inquisitor. You need rest. And one or two more days without their beloved Inquisitor won’t hurt anyone but might do you a lot of good.”

“I’m not planning to go on a mission, Layanna,” Lyssa said softly, “but...” She trailed off, searching for words, and the woman frowned. But it took her only a second before she understood.

“Ah,” the healer nodded. “You want to get your mind off things, hm? I mean, not that it is any of my business.” She sighed deeply and shook her head. “Very well. I will talk to Ambassador Montilyet. But she’ll have to find something to get your mind engaged without expecting too much of your body.” She searched in her bags for something, then made a satisfied sound as she found what she was looking for. “Ah, there you are.” Layanna came over to where Lyssa was already tucked in bed and showed her a small phial. “A potion with an extract of a wyvern’s poison in it. I’ve been keeping it for… extreme circumstances. But this is the last resort if nothing else works, do you hear me, Inquisitor? I did not treat all these wounds to have you collapse on me because you overdid it.”

A small smile tugged on Lyssa’s lips as she nodded dutifully. It was rare that she was on the receiving end of a healer’s fretting, and Solas was not quite as— The smile vanished from her lips as her heart clenched painfully at the thought of Solas taking care of her as he normally would... as he would have before the waterfalls.

She took the phial to distract herself, looking at it thoughtfully. “Josephine probably won't let me do anything but sit for the next few days, so I don't think it'll be necessary. But thank you nonetheless. I'll bring it back if I don't need it."

Layanna gave her a look that said she didn't believe that it wouldn't be necessary, but she still nodded, then made a gesture to the dinner tray that had been brought up. "Good. Now. Make sure you eat and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, I want you to come by the infirmary so I can check the wounds and redo the bandages, understood?"

Lyssa nodded. "Alright. Thank you, Layanna."

“You’re welcome,” the healer answered with a smile before she took her leave. Finally, Lyssa was alone. 

She leaned at the back of her bed, propped up against a pillow, dipping some bread into the broth she had been brought. Through the open window, she could hear the familiar noises of Skyhold — the neighing of the horses, the soft murmur of voices, the flutter of flags, and now and then, a clank of armor from the patrols, the laughter and cheering from the tavern. She stared out into the mountains and the sky, watching the waning light as the night fell, feeling a strange mix of being lost and home.


	5. What Truly Matters

Lyssa drifted off to sleep some time later, lulled in by the warmth from the fire and her blankets. Now that her wounds were closed or at least tended to, and she was clean and, for the first time in days, didn’t have the hollow ache of hunger in her belly, she felt like she could give in to the exhaustion laying heavy on her limbs. The slight crackle of the flames in the fireplace and the whisper of the wind around Skyhold sang her to sleep.

When she woke, it was nearly completely dark around her, and for a long, horrible second, she didn’t know where she was. In what felt like an eternity, she lay absolutely still, her mind muddled and confused, still caught up in a dream that she couldn’t quite remember, just the feeling of dread and loneliness clinging to her. Belatedly, she sat up, reaching for a staff that wasn’t there, scanning the room around her for potential danger. Only when her eyes fell upon the red-glowing embers and flying sparks in her fireplace did she remember where she was. Skyhold. Home. Safe.

Alone.

Still alone.

Slowly, she let out a breath, rubbing a hand over her eyes as she pulled her legs up and towards herself. At a gesture, the flames in the fireplace flared up again, and she hugged her knees, staring at them. Being here again would take some getting used to, coming back to her duties and missions, to her room where everything was so familiar and so very different at the same time. She had no idea yet how she would deal with Solas being around and so far away.

When she had lost Nelos, it had taken her months to sleep through a night without waking in confusion and reaching for someone who wasn’t there anymore. Sensing that empty, cold space next to her in a bed that now seemed too big for only herself reminded her eerily of that time. 

With a heavy sigh, she eventually pushed the blanket aside and got up again. The heavy tiredness that had had her in its grips had vanished. For weeks now, she had only slept a few hours at a time, woken easily by the slightest noise or the bitter cold in those hours just before dawn. Being able to sleep through the night would take some time.

Eventually, she gave up on trying to fall asleep again and got out of bed. She put on some leggings and a warm tunic, wrapping herself in a shawl. For a moment, she let her hands run over the smooth fabric, tracing her clan’s traditional embroidery that she had stitched into it, a dark ache of homesickness in her heart that was so familiar that she had long gotten used to it. Then, she made her way down to the Great Hall. To her surprise, there were still a few people around. It was obviously still earlier than she had thought.

Judging by their masks, the people who were sitting on a few couches were Orlesian nobles. Lyssa didn’t recognize any of them, and thankfully, they did not bother her. They had wine glasses and seemed deep in discussion, barely noticing her — probably not recognizing her. Varric was still sitting in front of the fire, accompanied by Dorian. It looked like Varric had been writing; several pieces of paper were strewn across his desk, his fingers ink-stained. Both looked up as she approached, and Dorian put his wineglass away immediately, jumping up and coming over to her.

“Lyssa!” he exclaimed, relief on his face. “Come and join us for a glass of wine! We have just been talking about you.”

Dorian had put an arm around her shoulders and brought her to the table. “I really worried you, didn’t I? I am sorry,” Lyssa said as she sat down.

"Don’t worry about it, Ember,” Varric said kindly, taking off his glasses as he looked at her. He produced another glass from somewhere within the cabinet that held his writing supplies and poured her some of the dark, red wine they had been drinking. “I thought you'd be fast asleep by now."

Lyssa smiled slightly and took the glass with a grateful nod. “I did sleep for a few hours. But I didn’t sleep long during the nights these last few weeks, and believe me when I tell you — it is impressive how quickly the body adjusts to something new,” she said.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Varric grunted. “Every time we're back on the road, I have backaches for three days before I'm used to it again. And when I'm back in my warm, soft bed, it's the same.”

“That's called aging, my friend,” she remarked drily.

Dorian laughed. “That’s what I said!”

Varric chuckled. “He did indeed, but I still refuse to acknowledge it. In any case, it’s good to see you haven't lost your humor on your torture trip,” he grinned.

Lyssa frowned. “Torture trip?” she asked, and Dorian nodded.

“Talking of which,” he said, leaning forward as he looked at her with a shake of his head. “Why did you go on such a torture trip? Nobody is worth something like that. Especially not Mr. Know-it-all!”

For a second, she didn’t know what to say, just looked in confusion from one to the other. “It… it’s not a torture trip. Why would you even think that?”

Varric and Dorian exchanged a look, then Dorian motioned to the wound on her cheek. “Wasn’t it one? Solas said it was a quest for endurance.”

She blinked in surprise. “Solas said? Why would you ask Solas about a Dalish ritual?” She shook her head. “He is not Dalish; how would he know?”

Varric hesitated for a moment. “Well, the Dalish we did ask didn’t want to disclose much information, Morrigan didn’t know, and Solas said he knew about the Vir Bor’assan from his studies of elven culture...” He interrupted himself at Lyssa’s disgusted scoff. “Hm. I see he was wrong. So, no ritualistic torture and submitting to pain?”

Lyssa just shook her head, anger sparking in her. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. It hasn’t been that for centuries! I was attacked, but that was not part of the plan!”

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. He started to answer and then stopped himself. After clearing his throat, he asked, “Well then… what’s the word you always use? Haro? Hareh?”

“Hahren,” Lyssa clarified, the line between her eyebrows smoothing at his attempt on elvish.

“Hahren,” Dorian nodded. “So, hahren, what is that trip about then? What  _ was _ ‘the plan’?”

For a second, Lyssa didn’t answer, still caught between anger and disappointment that even after all this time, her friends seemed to think that either Solas or Morrigan were the experts on her culture. But when she looked at Varric and Dorian again, she only saw legitimate concern and open curiosity.

She took a deep breath and shook her head as she reined her anger in, then she said so quietly that only the two of them could hear her, “The Vir Bor’assan is about learning to recognize your own strength. It is testing your own body’s limits and finding your way through the wilderness on your own.” She spread her hands out as she explained, “Clan life is about community, working together and relying on each other. But especially in battle, that also means that you yourself have to be absolutely sure of your own abilities or others cannot rely on you.” She flexed her hand, letting a few sparks dance between her fingers. “And I desperately needed the reminder that I am and always will be fine on my own.”

“But your injuries…” Dorian started, but stopped when Lyssa made an impatient gesture.

“I stumbled on four rifts on my way back, Dorian. With the usual assortment of demons. I closed them, but I did not specifically seek them out.”

Her friend shook his head. “But still, peaches,” he insisted. “You're not alone; surely you know that. And you have proven yourself more than once. I don't understand why—”

Lyssa lost the last of her patience and interrupted him sharply. “Because you are a shem!”

It came out louder than intended, and Dorian shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth, looking stunned. Lyssa was still too raw, too hurt to stop herself, and the words tumbled out before she thought about them.

“You all are! Shemlen, humans everywhere I look, shems without even the intention of trying to understand me, their blessed Andrastian symbol. Even you, Varric, even you and Scout Harding are Andrastian!” She shook her head desperately. “Sera spits on my people, pretends it doesn't matter,  _ mustn't _ matter that we’re elven and would rather cut off the tips of her ears before she would admit she's an elf, and Solas…”

She stopped, her throat raw as the pain clawed at her heart. She bit her lip to stop it from quivering as she looked at the closed door next to Varric’s workplace that lead to Solas’ rotunda. Her two friends were very quiet, exchanging a look, and her voice dropped to a tired murmur.

“Solas was the only one with an interest in our heritage, our history. In learning, teaching, sharing knowledge, even if he doesn't share my culture. And that night, he… told me something that upset… everything I thought was true, everything that I believed. Before he left me.” She touched her fingertips to her eyes behind which a headache threatened to form, her smooth skin screaming the absence of her vallaslin into the touch.

Neither Dorian nor Varric said anything, just looked at her, and so she continued, “You are my friends, and I love you, you know that. But all of you share something that I never had, even before I came to live with the Dalish. A belief in Andraste and your Chantry, a home within the shemlen cities.”

Lyssa looked at her left hand, at the slight green shimmer beneath her skin. “And no matter how often I tell you that I am not sent by your god, I am ‘Your Worship’, I am the Herald, I am the Inquisitor. In a way, I will always be alone here. But never more than in that moment when Solas...”

She interrupted herself with a shake of her head. She was not ready to talk about the vallaslin. “Then more than ever. And I needed to remind myself that after everything, after all the things we've gone through, and after how it changed me, that I am still… me. A Dalish, a Keeper of tradition and lore, and that I’m able to hold my own. In my way, in  _ our _ way. And that was the reason I walked the Vir Bor’assan.”

For a long while, nobody said anything. The only sounds came from the fire behind Varric and from the nobles still chatting away in the far end of the Great Hall.

Eventually, Dorian reached for Lyssa’s hand, squeezing it tightly. When she looked up at him, he said, “I am sorry, Lyssa. I didn’t realize...”

He trailed off, and she could see that he was troubled by what she had said. Quickly, she pressed his hand. “I didn’t say this to blame you for something. Neither of you,” she assured her friend. She looked imploringly from Dorian to Varric. “I know you have my back, and I know that I am more than a symbol for you. But this had nothing to do with you, you know? I did this for myself.”

“I understand,” Varric said quietly. “I just wish we could do more for you.”

Lyssa slowly shook her head. Seeing her friends so worried about her, and so bent on comforting and defending her sent a soft warmth through her, a bright seed amidst the quiet sadness within her. “You do more than enough, Varric.”

“Listen, peaches,” Dorian said solemnly, “I can’t match Solas’ knowledge on the Fade and your elven history, but I’m a quick learner. And I promise to always listen when you want to share. I’m pretty sure I can even be excited about it.” He gave her a wink, and Lyssa smiled.

“Thank you. I might just hold you to that.” Then her eyes went back to the closed door next to her friend, and the smile died on her face. She could see the shine of light coming from beneath it, and knowing Solas, he was still at work. She drew the shawl closer around herself as she said softly, “But talking of Solas... there is still one thing to do.”

“Oh, no, Ember,” Varric said, worry in his eyes as he followed her eyes. “Are you sure about that? Getting blood stains out of the marble is a pain in the ass.”

Lyssa couldn’t suppress a surprised chuckle at his words. “I don't plan to kill him, Varric.” She shook her head at him.

“Are you sure, though?” Varric asked, skepticism dripping from his voice. “Because Dorian would be devastated if you beat him to the punch.” 

“I definitely would be,” Dorian interjected, taking another sip from his wine as he narrowed his eyes at the door.

“I am sure,” she answered, giving Dorian a slight nudge with her elbow before she got up. “There's something I need to know."

Varric looked at her worriedly. "Take care of yourself, Ember."

“I will.” Lyssa reached for Varric’s hand and pressed it. “Thank you, Varric. Really.” She looked from him to Dorian. “Both of you.”

The dwarf gave her a warm smile, and Dorian raised his glass towards her. “Of course.”

She nodded, took a deep breath, and went to see Solas in his study.

He was still working as she had hoped he would. As she had expected. She knew his habits so well, and somehow, it was good to see that they hadn't changed just by them being separated. He had his back to her as he sat at his desk, bowed over a book, taking notes. When he heard the door, he looked up and turned.

The door fell shut behind her, but she stayed where she was, her hand cramped into the shawl around her shoulders as if to hold on to something, anything. The distance between them seemed larger than the few meters separating them, and as their eyes met, her heart did a painful flip. Solas froze and stood up, turning fully towards her. He clearly hadn't anticipated to see her, and a range of emotions went over his face before he schooled himself, putting on his most regal and undisturbed aura.

“Solas,” she said softly.

“Inquisitor.” He inclined his head to her. Lyssa pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering.  _ Inquisitor _ . Not vhenan... not even Lyssa.

When she didn’t say anything, Solas took a breath. “How may I help you prepare for our final battle?” he asked, overly formal. The neutral words sliced through her like a knife. It was as if a trench had opened up between them, swallowing everything that had connected them.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She had come to talk to him, to try and understand — something she had done so often, with such implicitness that she hadn’t even thought about whether it was still possible. But with a simple question, he had made clear that he had no intention of speaking of personal matters. Her throat closed, but she wasn’t ready to give up so immediately.

Raising her chin slightly, she said, “I’d like to discuss what happened before, Solas.” She desperately tried to be calm and professional, mirroring his detachment.

He avoided meeting her eyes, rearranging some books on his table. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate at this time. We must focus on what truly matters,” he said matter-of-factly, straightening as he looked at her.

Again, she felt like she could feel his gaze physically on her skin, but more than that, it was his words that made her heart clench. For a second, she wasn’t able to breathe. He thought  _ this _ didn’t matter? They didn’t matter?

“What  _ truly _ matters?” she asked, her pain clear in her voice. “And what is that?”

Immediately, he looked away from her. It was just a tiny movement, a split-second where he closed his eyes to collect himself, but she saw it nonetheless, and her heart broke a bit more. He wouldn’t tell her. There was a small movement of his lips as he pressed them together ever so slightly, and his fingers moved to clench, just to be forcibly relaxed again. Lyssa tilted her head, looking at him unhappily as she realized what he tried to do. He tried to keep her away, hiding behind secrets.

After a second, he cleared his throat and looked at her again, holding her gaze. “Harden your heart to a cutting edge and put that pain to good use against Corypheus,” he said with an edge to his voice.

For a long moment, she didn't answer, blinking the threatening tears away. Corypheus. His words were so obviously not what he meant, so obviously a diversion from what she really wanted to know — why? — that they cut deep into her heart.

“Corypheus?” she asked tonelessly. “Is that...” She interrupted herself, looking to the side in a desperate try to compose herself. Silence fell, heavy and sad, and she quickly wiped a tear away that ran over her cheek, swallowing hard.

For what had to be the hundredth time, the scene at the waterfalls went through her head. The way he had so openly and full of love looked at her, the fear that had suddenly appeared, and the sorrow, the desperation as he had shielded himself when she had reached for him.  _ Vhenan _ . Even as he had walked away from her, he had called her vhenan.

And he had meant it. She was sure of that.

But still, he had walked away. 

_ Harden your heart to a cutting edge and put that pain to good use. _ It was clear from the way he carefully kept his distance that he intended to do the same thing. And hadn’t she attempted to do exactly that? To take her pain and make it a weapon?  _ Bend, never break, _ she remembered, raising her chin as she looked back at him.

“I remember,” she said softly. “I remember the way you tried to keep everyone at a distance in the beginning. Hiding behind a mask of politeness and professionalism. Do you really think that you can just put it back on? That it will work with me, after everything we shared?” She couldn’t keep the hurt completely from her voice, and his features softened as he slowly exhaled, for a moment showing the pain shimmering behind his eyes.

“You’ve always seen more than most,” he said quietly. “But I have to try. I am sorry.”

There was such sorrow in his voice that her heart clenched, and Lyssa took a step towards him before she could think better of it, but immediately, he held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. For a moment, she thought he would say something else, but then he just shook his head and looked away.

“One more thing,” she said eventually, waiting until he had turned his head towards her. “You may walk the Fade, Solas, but you do not walk the Dalish path. Do not presume you know our customs from what you have gleaned from the past.”

A line appeared between his eyebrows, and she added, “The Vir Bor’assan hasn’t been ritualistic torture for centuries, Solas. We couldn’t afford the loss of life it brought. After the fall of Arlathan, after Tevinter, after the Dales... there are so few of us left, do you really think we would make our hunters submit to something like that?” She shook her head slowly, hurt in her voice. “Yes, we try to preserve the past, yes, we get things wrong. Like the vallaslin.”

Solas didn’t say anything, just looked at her intensely, emotions barely veiled. “So you still believe my words about them?” he asked carefully.

Lyssa clicked her tongue, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Of course I do. But not everything is forgotten, Solas. Some things change out of necessity.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, then he inclined his head. “You are right. I should not have presumed. I apologize.” He took a breath as if to add something else, but then he only said, “Let me know if I can be of any more help planning our final fight.” Then he turned back to his study.

Lyssa waited for a long moment, just staring at his back. The fact that he had thought her belief in him had been completely shattered showed her that despite his careful distance, he too was shaken. Suddenly, she had to resist the urge to touch him, to just wrap her arms around him and rest her cheek against his back, telling him that whatever he feared, whatever had made him leave her, they could face it together. That there was no need for him to push her away. The longing was a dark, hot ache deep in her belly, so bad that she couldn’t breathe for a moment, and she closed her eyes.

The silence between them was heavy and full of sadness. Far above them, she could hear the quiet rattling of Leliana’s raven cages, and shadows flickered over the colors and forms of Solas’s murals. Lyssa barely noticed it. Her eyes burned, and a weight seemed to lay on her breast, but she didn’t cry again. When she finally turned to leave, she had to force herself to put one foot in front of the other, so tired was she suddenly. At the door frame, she halted for a last time, turning around again.

Her voice was very quiet, halting as she spoke. “I just wanted to know… whether… was it me? Was it my fault?”

For a moment, Solas didn’t react. “No,” he murmured eventually.

“Say it to my face,” Lyssa demanded, clenching a fist. Harden your heart to a cutting edge, right?

Solas slowly turned to face her, his face deeply sad as he struggled with keeping his mask on. “No,” he repeated quietly. “Never think that. This is on me and me alone,” he insisted, and she knew he meant it. His eyes burned into hers, telling her more than he intended to show her.

She hesitated for a long moment before she forced herself to ask, “Do you still love me?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, carrying all her suffering and grief, every unspoken word and deep-felt emotion.

Solas didn't answer. She waited for him to move, to tell her something meaningless, to tell her a lie. To tell her that he had never loved her, that he had played with her, that he had pretended all the time, and that all she had been was a distraction, fun, a game.

But he didn’t.

She could see his struggle, and right then, when he failed to tell her the lies he knew would keep her away for good, she knew the extent of his own pain.

It didn’t help. But somehow, it was enough.

She turned around and left before the tears that shimmered in her eyes could fall, leaving Solas behind. She didn’t see the way his hands trembled as he covered his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them to keep his emotions under control.


	6. When There's Nothing Left to Say

“Dismissed.”

The word had its usual stern briefness, but instead of the sound of chainmail moving and leather creaking when his soldiers saluted and left, there was no reaction.

Cullen looked up and suppressed an annoyed sigh when he saw that the soldier wasn’t even looking at him, but stared at the door again, obviously deep in thought. She had done that already during the briefing — continuously looking over through the open door towards the battlements, a concerned expression on her face. He waited for another second, then he said slowly, “Soldier? Is there something else?”

Impatience was clear in his voice, and the soldier quickly looked back at him, snapping to attention with a guilty look.

“Apologies, Commander,” she said hastily. “It's just…” She hesitated for a second, her eyes straying to the door for a moment before going back to him. “It's the Inquisitor. She's been on the battlements for the last hour, just staring, unmoving, and it's… Well, it's getting dark.”

Cullen straightened and furrowed his brow, his own eyes wandering towards the door. From where he was standing, he couldn’t see the Inquisitor, but he nodded at the soldier, motioning her to leave. She looked relieved and saluted, then she quickly left the room.

Cullen took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead, then he moved around his heavy desk and looked outside. Beyond the door, he could see the Inquisitor leaning against the battlements, staring up into the sky as the first stars appeared. She wore her usual casual tunic and leggings, her preferred outfit here in Skyhold — something Josephine had in vain tried to change — but seemed oblivious to the falling night and accompanying cold. Summer was not far, but up here in the mountains, the nights still grew very cold.

He hesitated. They had never been especially close, even if they had developed a friendly and respectful relationship in the last two and a half years. She had helped him through the first horrible weeks of lyrium withdrawal and thanked him profusely when she knew her clan was safe after she had followed his advice to send in soldiers, but somehow, it had never grown beyond those few moments of connection. And then, Cassia had disappeared in the Fade, and he had nearly stopped... everything.

Ever since the Inquisitor had reappeared a few days ago after nearly four weeks, battered and scarred, she had been nothing but professional and concentrated on her duties. And still, there was a permanent air of sadness around her that made most people tiptoe in her vicinity. She didn't really seem to notice.

He was often reminded of her first months in the Inquisition, when she had still avoided meeting the gaze of most people, keeping to the edge of rooms. But unlike that time then, she did not try to watch everything and everyone. Instead, she seemed to be mostly lost in her own thoughts or in her work, pointedly avoiding a certain study in the rotunda. Just like the rest of Skyhold — thanks to Dorian's rather vocal exclamations and the ensuing gossip — Cullen was aware of what had happened.

But even without that, he would have known. Lyssa and Solas hadn’t been overly open with their relationship, but they also didn’t exactly hide the fact that they were a couple. The way she avoided Solas all of a sudden, and the way he looked at her when she didn't notice it told him enough. And he wasn't sure he could really help her with a broken heart like a close friend would be able to.

He himself still felt Cassia’s loss as a permanent, screaming, dark ache deep within him. How was he supposed to help the Inquisitor now?

For a moment, he thought about going to get Dorian or Varric. They would know what to tell her, how to comfort her. They would probably drag her to a night in the Herald’s Rest or distract her in some other way from her broken heart, offering the warm companionship of a friend.

He was already turning to go and find Dorian when he saw her shiver in the cool night air. He hesitated for another moment, then he sighed and walked over to her, unfastening his coat as he did so, and put it around her shoulders.

Lyssa seemed to wake from a daydream as the warm fur came around her. Surprised, she looked up, blinking as she recognized Cullen. He looked at her with a mix of wariness and worry, and it was only now that she noticed how the coldness from the wind and bleak stones beneath her hands had crept into her limbs. The coat provided blessed warmth, and she gave him a little smile that he returned, his shoulders relaxing somewhat.

“Thank you,” Lyssa murmured, snuggling deeper into the coat, and Cullen nodded with a lopsided smile, putting his arms on the battlements next to her and following her gaze to the star constellation appearing over the horizon.

“Tanadhal,” she said softly. “Fitting, that it would rise now.”

Cullen took a moment to make the connection to Fervenial, the name under which he knew the constellation. “How so?” he asked.

Lyssa touched her hand to the still evil-looking wound on her cheek that would leave a scar. “It’s Andruil’s constellation, favorable sign for those who undertake one of the Vir Tanadhal. When I was still walking the Vir Bor’assan, it had not yet risen. Maybe I’d have had more luck if I had waited a few weeks.” She slightly shook her head, then she shrugged. “Well. It’s not like I chose the time beforehand,” she muttered, and his eyes returned to her.

The sadness was back on her face, her eyes wistful as she watched the stars rise. The wind picked up, whipping a few strands of hair around her face. For a moment, Cullen just looked at her. He still wasn't used to how changed she was without the elven markings. She looked younger, somehow, and very vulnerable.

“Are you alright?" he eventually asked carefully when she didn’t continue.

Lyssa took a deep breath and looked down. For a moment, he wasn't sure she would answer, but when she met his eyes again, she slowly shook her head.

“No,” she said quietly. “But I will be. Once I'm used to the grief again.”

Cullen did not really know how to answer that. Her voice was very calm as she spoke, and yet, his heart clenched when he heard the emotions behind the words, emotions he could comprehend so well. Too damn well.

“I am sorry,” he finally managed to say, and the shadow of a smile flickered across her face.

“Me too. But thank you,” she said quietly and sighed.

Silence fell between them. For a few moments, Cullen just stood next to her, keeping her company as Fervenial rose higher and higher in the sky. The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but the longer they just stood there, the less sure Cullen was that his presence was helping in any way

Just when he was about to leave and get Dorian after all, Lyssa said, “Did you know I used to be scared like the Blight of you?”

She looked up at him, a calm seriousness on her face. Cullen was surprised at the sudden change of topic and shrugged a bit sheepishly, then he nodded.

"Yes, I knew,” he confessed, going on to explain, “You always looked like you feared I would draw my sword on you any second. Once, when I reached for something near you, you even flinched as if expecting a hit." It had been in the early days, back in Haven, and he had kept a careful, polite distance afterwards. Scaring her had been the last thing he had wanted to do. "I thought about asking you about it but didn't quite know how. I always figured it had something to do with my being a Templar and you… well. Not a Circle mage."

Lyssa threw him a look. “Apostate, you mean,” she said dryly.

“I… well… I know the Dalish mages are trained even if…” Cullen stopped as she raised an eyebrow with a knowing look and sighed. “Yes,” he conceded. “An apostate.”

“Makes sense,” she nodded, “but that was not it.”

He tilted his head, leaning on his elbow as he turned more fully towards her, his curiosity spiked. “What was it then?”

A small smile flickered over her face. “Your looks.”

Cullen blinked, not sure whether he should be offended. “I beg your pardon?”

For a moment, Lyssa’s eyes got a nearly mischievous expression as she looked him up and down, then explained with a smile, “Your height, the muscular build, the short-cropped blonde hair, even the scar on your lip…”

Cullen shifted his weight uncomfortably at her words and felt his ears get hot. He had never dealt well with unexpected compliments — and in this case, he wasn’t even sure it was a compliment. He had no idea where this was leading.

“Uhm,” he started, and she chuckled softly, the first openly amused sound he had heard from her since she had returned. Only now, when her smiles had gotten rare and her laughter even rarer had he realized, had they all realized, just how much she had smiled and laughed before. And how much it had colored their work together. Before Crestwood.

“Don't worry, I'm not flirting with you, Commander,” Lyssa assured him with a soft smile, which only led to his ears turning a deeper shade of red.

“Of course not,” he said quickly. “I never would have assumed. I was just…" He trailed off and cleared his throat.

For a second, she looked down at her hands, touching her left ring finger where a ring would sit, and her smile turned sad again. Very quietly, she said, “You look like the spitting image of the man who killed my husband.”

Cullen blinked again, taken aback. That was not in the least what he had expected to hear. Completely thrown off guard, he said the first thing that came to his mind, “You were married?”

Lyssa nodded quietly, and for a moment, she looked back at the stars. Her voice had a faraway tone as she said softly, “Yes. His name was Nelos. He was killed defending me from the man who gave me this.” She touched the old scars on her lip and temple before she looked back at Cullen. “The clan was vilified by a discontented merchant who riled up a whole village. They came with torches and swords, and what was probably a bunch of mercenaries. The man...” She trailed off for a second, then cleared her throat and continued, “... he had managed to surprise me as I was warding a couple of aravels to protect the children and those not able to fight. And he would've killed me, had Nelos not come between us. Nelos was an excellent fighter, but better with a bow than with daggers, and the human had a broadsword.”

Cullen had grown very still as Lyssa spoke. She had never talked to him about her past before, he realized. She had asked him about his family and his life before the Inquisition, but somehow, it had never occurred to him to inquire after hers. Now that he thought about it, nearly all that he knew about her was that she was Dalish — somehow, that had been enough for him. He vaguely remembered a scandalized and shocked Josephine talking full of empathy about something Lyssa had told her, about the way insults had more than once led to her clan having to defend themselves; but somehow, he had never really thought about what that actually entailed. He should have, he now realized with shame.

“I…” he started, swallowing. “I never knew. I'm sorry.”

"Thank you.” Lyssa slightly inclined her head, her eyes shimmering as she looked up in the night sky. Her voice was very quiet as she continued, “It was years ago. But... he was the last of my family. My father and twin brothers died just before the Blight, and my eldest brother didn't survive the training after they forced him into armor."

Cullen was surprised. He knew that many cities had forcibly recruited people when the darkspawn threatened, but he had never heard of Dalish being recruited. "Your brother? But how did they even get ahold of a Dalish?"

Lyssa looked back at him. "I wasn't born Dalish," she explained. "I grew up in Denerim. My mum and I left the alienage just a week before they closed the gates and started selling the elves to slavers to fund their war against the Wardens." For a second, her face grew very hard.

Cullen was horrified. Everyone had heard about Teyrn Loghain's deeds after the Hero of Ferelden had laid them open in the Landsmeet, but it had never been more than a faraway fact that had nothing to do with him. All of a sudden, it came very close — knowing that the Herald of Andraste had nearly ended up as a Tevinter slave…

But he barely had time to wrap his head around it, since Lyssa continued, "We wandered about the land more or less aimlessly, starving, winter coming closer until we stumbled upon a Dalish clan by accident and luck. Or rather, they stumbled upon us. They took us in. They became… home. Our family." A smile flickered over her face that died as quickly as it had come. "Two years later, my mother died from some wasting sickness eating her up from inside. Nelos was…" She interrupted herself, swallowing hard, and her voice was raw as she said softly, "... he was my anchor when everyone else was gone. And then he was gone, too, with one stroke of a blade.” For a second, she fell quiet, the silence between them heavy and sad. “Ever since, I stumbled through life, just trying to get to the next day — and just when I had found my footing again, the Conclave exploded, and you took me captive. I couldn’t go home to my clan, who are the closest thing I have to a family, and I was always somewhat apart here. Dalish. Herald. Inquisitor. I was so very alone. Until Solas... until he loved me."

Cullen was speechless, and for a few minutes, he didn't really know where to look, what to say. How come he never knew any of this? He had known they weren't especially close, but hearing all this, he felt like he had never actually talked to her before. Now that he thought about it, he realized they had mostly talked about work-related stuff. Or he had talked about his family, about his struggles. He cleared his throat, ashamed at his egocentricity. Suddenly, he felt cold, slender fingers on his hand, pressing it softly. When he looked up, Lyssa smiled at him, her face full of sympathy and sadness.

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, Cullen. I'm just saying — I know grief. I've always known it. I just… forgot for a while. But I'll remember how to live with it again. And if I can do this, you can, too."

He nodded, unsure how this had become about him when he had wanted to comfort her. “Thank you,” he murmured, swallowing down the grief that had welled up at her words. He still hadn't come to terms with Cassia's disappearance. He still didn't know how to deal with it.

“It was… just when I had reached a point where everything finally felt right again,” he said slowly, only realizing the truth of it as he spoke the words out loud. “After the blood mages in Lake Calenhad's Circle, I thought I knew everything. Mages were dangerous, and we Templars protected the people from their curse. Then Kirkwall and Knight-Commander Meredith proved that Templars could be just as bad — even though Kirkwall had its fair share of the worst of blood mages.”

He slowly shook his head as he thought back to the events in Kirkwall. “Cassia was the one keeping me sane back then, showing me just how imperfect and perfect we all are. The mage fighting on my side, on our side. On the side of the people. And then, Meredith overstepped the last lines, Anders blew up the Chantry, and this whole crazy war broke out.” He shook his head as he stared into the night. “I thought I had everything figured out, and then, nothing I once thought was true held up for inspection. And I was… I made the Inquisition my new anchor. But I think I was losing the battle against myself, against the lyrium — even though you helped me a great deal yourself,” he hastily added, not wanting to give the Inquisitor the impression that she had fought for him and talked to him for nothing.

But Lyssa didn't seem to be offended. She still had her hand on his, watching him intently, silently. That was it, he realized then, what had made him tell her so much about himself already — she listened, really listened. It was easy to talk to her.

“When Cassia showed up here, everything seemed to come back into focus,” he continued. “Suddenly, lyrium wasn't important. Mages against Templars wasn't important. I felt… good. And now she's gone again. Just when…” Cullen stopped, blinking in the cool night air, as his throat closed.

“… just when everything had felt right again,” Lyssa repeated his words from a few minutes ago and nodded. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “That's it exactly. Everything felt like it could finally be alright again, maybe even forever. And now, everything is back to mostly pain and confusion. As if the centerpiece of a puzzle is just missing.”

“Yes,” Cullen said very quietly. He had closed his fingers around hers, feeling connected to the Inquisitor like never before. He hadn't talked to anybody about this before now. And seeing, feeling that she understood, really understood him, helped. Suddenly, he no longer felt as alone.

“Did he give you a reason?” he asked after a long pause, and she shook her head.

“No.” Lyssa looked back to the horizon, and he saw her lip tremble ever so slightly. “I know he still loves me. But not enough. Not enough.” Her voice broke at the last words, and without thinking, Cullen took her into his arms, holding her as she cried for what was probably the first time since she was back in Skyhold, maybe longer.


	7. Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description of violence, death and sex in this chapter.

Lyssa looked up at the bright band of stars spanning the sky, only visible when no moon rose to light up the night. The stars seemed so close that she was nearly tempted to reach up to pluck them from the velvety blue, and a content smile played around her lips. It was late, and the cold of the night air and the stones upon which she lay seeped slowly through her clothes and into her limbs, but for the moment, Lyssa didn’t care. It was a rare moment of silence and peace, and she relished the quietness all around her. The Great Hall had been packed with nobles asking for audiences, swarming her until Josephine took pity upon her and directed her and a few selected guests into another, quieter room. It had still been an exhausting day. By now, most of Skyhold had fallen silent; the nobles gone to their guest rooms, and even the Herald’s Rest had quieted down. A slight breeze let the flags flutter quietly, but apart from that, not much could be heard.

"I cannot imagine that this is comfortable," Solas said as he stepped through the door out onto the balcony. Lyssa smiled up at him, and he paused for a moment, watching her. The corner of his lips was curled in a smile as he looked down on her with warm eyes.

"It's not about the comfort," she answered. "It's about the beauty as you well know."

She reached a hand toward him in invitation, and — just as she knew he would — he came towards her and lowered himself to lean over her. Supporting himself with one hand, he hovered over her, trailing his cool fingers over her face in a loving caress. She could feel his lower body pressed against hers, and with a sparkle in her eye, she slowly moved beneath him as she put her arms around his shoulders, her fingers curling against his neck and sending a warm shiver down his back. He smiled as he carefully, lovingly brushed a lock of hair from her face, his features eternal and beautiful in the night, somewhat softened by the faint light. He touched her face reverently as if to imprint every line, every little scar into his memory, every shadow, every light.

"Ah vhenan," he murmured, "it's about so much more than beauty."

Her hands came up to caress his body, softly trailing over his sides as he lowered himself down to kiss her, his lips pressing against hers with tenderness. A familiar longing, edged with grief and pain amidst the happiness of the moment rose within her, but she ignored it. She would take what little she could for as long as she could. With an eager sigh, her mouth opened beneath his, and she drew him closer. She could feel his smile against her lips at her eagerness, but he responded just like she had hoped he would, and she lost herself in his kiss.

"That must be cold."

The curious voice of Cole startled them both, and they stopped in the midst of their movement. Solas closed his eyes just above her face as if he struggled to maintain his patience, and Lyssa could not help but laugh softly. She could feel the blush in her cheeks burning as she looked at the spirit crouching next to them, head tilted and looking at them wonderingly.

"Why are you here?" Lyssa asked, and Cole looked at her in confusion.

"There is pain amidst the fluidity of the dream.”

The smile on her face wavered, and she could feel Solas shake his head slightly. Cole was right; there was pain woven throughout the very essence of this dream. She knew it, but for the moment, she didn’t care. She had called upon this memory, for once giving in to the longing for the duration of a dream, stolen moments of happiness. It wasn’t like there was much else she could do.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “I want to remember for tonight.”

“But it hurts you!” Cole exclaimed, worry in his voice. His voice got the faraway softness he always had when he voiced the thoughts and emotions of someone near him. “Cold stones, warm hands, the sweetness of his kiss against the bitterness of his loss. I love you, Solas, please don’t leave! Unshed tears burning in the back of my throat, every time he calls me Inquisitor instead of _vhenan_. Fleeing from him, towards him, into the familiarity of the Fade. Here, you are still mine. And I am yours." He blinked, eyes focussing back on her, his head tilting slightly. “The pain fades into the background, easier to bear with the memory, but it’s not gone.”

Lyssa let out a breath. Cole had ignored the dream version of Solas, solely focussed on her. Now, she looked up at Solas again, and saw him smile indulgently as if the spirit had indeed only interrupted them kissing.

“No,” she admitted, trailing a hand over Solas’ cheek. “But please, Cole. Leave. And don’t come into my dreams again," she said softly. Cole flickered, and she could feel the Fade flicker as well, adjusting to his slipping through whatever crack she had left open for him to follow, then he was gone.

“Alone again,” she whispered, and the smile on Solas’s lips was a promise as he bent down again to kiss her. Lyssa wrapped her arms around him again, eyes closing beneath his caress, but even as she felt his tongue touch hers, he escaped her grip.

"No, please," she called out, trying to let herself fall back into the memory, shaping the dream. “Not yet...” _Dark hair beneath her fingers, flowing like silk, then smooth skin, soft to the touch._ When she looked up at him again, the night sky was gone, and his face was in the shadows, just a burning pair of eyes above her that vanished into the smoke that rose from the burning aravels around her.

Lyssa gripped her staff more closely, the familiar panic already rising within her as the sparks flew towards the sky. The nightmare was so old and familiar that she knew every second of it, every moment, every smell and flicker, every detail. But despite that, the fear, and hurt, and panic never loosened their grip on her. She could feel her heart racing, hands slick with sweat.

She called upon the flames to draw them away from the aravel, knowing it was too late and yet unable to do anything else. She swirled around, slamming her staff onto the ground as she tried to stop the flames, but all of a sudden, a human shape appeared out of the darkness. Her eyes widened as time slowed down, and just like every time, she could see the woods pitch-black beneath a dark, fire-lit night sky. The human's hand sent a fiery red pain through her, and she flew backward, pain exploding through her.

There was nothing she could do about this part of the nightmare. No matter how much she tried to change it, no matter how much control she normally had over her small part of the Fade, she was always helpless in this scenario.

A sob escaped her as she looked up, trying to catch her breath, and the sky was blood red. Then, everything was Nelos' eyes in the moment of his death, and desperate grief washed over her. The sound of her voice singing him a lullaby wove itself through the dream, leaving soft trails in the air as she knelt down next to his body, tears, and blood running down her face as she carefully turned him over.

It was Solas, eyes wide and full of pain in death, his hands bloodstained, his neck cut.

“No,” she breathed, shying away from him, and scrambled to her feet. The human was back, she knew it, only it was a different man, with a golden mask and a tent full of horrors waiting for her.

"No!"

This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not what normally happened in the dream!

She needed to get away, quickly, before the Orlesian got to her, but right now, she couldn't move. Her magic… he had taken her magic. He had killed Solas. And now he would take everything else he wanted.

Lyssa fought desperately as the masked man grabbed her, kicking him off and scrambling away into the black darkness, her throat closed with fear and desperation as she found herself back with Solas' lifeless body. _This was not how it was supposed to be!_

She felt the change before she saw it, the icy tentacles creeping in from all sides, and her breath clouded before her face.

_Fear._

Hastily, she took a few steps backward, but the body on the ground no longer was a body. A writhing mass, drawing itself upwards until it towered over her, the six spider legs unfolding from its back. Lyssa let out a shuddering breath, her eyes wide as cold panic gripped her.

Ever since Adamant and her encounter with the Nightmare demon, she had glimpsed terror and fear demons more often than usual in the Fade. They were smaller and way less powerful than the one that Cassia Hawke had stayed behind to kill, but encountering them here was always a battle of willpower. It was as if the touch of the Nightmare had made a chink in the armor around her mind, as if she was more vulnerable to their attacks. Most of the time, she was able to ward herself against them easily, but she was in the part of her nightmare that had never been within her control.

Desperately, she tried to shape the dream around her anyway, to get some sort of leverage against the demon, and for a second, the world around her wavered. With a shriek, the demon sprang forward, towards her, claws raised, and Lyssa screamed, raising her arms in front of her face as she called a barrier into being around her. The second the demon clashed against her barrier, _something_ groaned deep within reality, and the burning aravels disappeared, replaced by heavy, thick walls. Lyssa felt a sliver of something warm and familiar and _grabbed_, and the walls formed into the well-known shape of her room in Skyhold.

She was alone.

Lyssa let out a breath, everything within her still strung like a bow, and her shoulders sagged in relief. For a moment, it was all she could do not to just burst into tears as the tension rippled through her body, only slowly leaving her. Her heart still beat hard, a racing pounding within her chest that only now started to slow down. She wiped over her face. That had been way too close for her taste. So much for calling upon a cherished memory for a lovely dream.

She took a step towards her bed with a tired sigh. It lay in deep shadows, the night black, and so dark that it felt tangible. It was probably better if she went back to sleep, hopefully with calmer dreams, she thought — but then she stopped, just before her feet touched the shadows.

Wait.

Had she even woken up?

Lyssa furrowed her brow as she tried to remember the moment when the dream had ended. Was it when she had repelled the demon? Hadn’t she startled awake and found herself in her bedroom? _... no. _Her eyes widened, and she took a step backward again, her naked feet cold on the bare ground. That meant she was still in the Fade. Wordless, cold laughter filled the air around her, making the hairs on her neck stand. _The demon._

The darkness around the bed started to gather, solidifying into a faceless mass, but Lyssa didn’t wait until it could take form. She turned and ran.

The stairs in the tower seemed endless as she raced downwards, the blackness behind her full of teeth and a wordless horror that held her in its icy grip. The demon had used the perfect moment to attack her, when control had been out of her grip, and she knew that she couldn’t face it here, not in this part of the Fade that was not hers. She needed to find back to someplace that she felt safe in, where she could ward it off. _But where?!_ As she pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, the snarling demon directly on her heels, she glimpsed a sliver of light.

_Of course._

There was only one place in Skyhold where she had always felt safe. Solas’ rotunda.

Without stopping, she turned, her lungs burning in her chest as she ran as fast as she could towards the warm, bright light falling into the otherwise deserted, cold Great Hall. The shadows deepened around her, and more than once, Lyssa nearly stumbled as _something_ grabbed her ankles. The demon was furious, feeling its grip on her weaken as relief and hope broke through the cold fear around her heart, and its screeching filled the air, but she didn’t stop. With a last push, she burst through the door into Solas’ rotunda.

The sweet warmth caught her like a lover’s embrace, and the last shred of fear was wiped from her mind in an instant. She was safe here, she knew it with every cell of her being, and triumphantly, she whipped around to banish the fear demon once and for all — but the door behind her didn’t lead into the black, frightening Great Hall anymore, but into an open garden in full sunlight. The demon was gone, she could feel it. Lyssa let out a breath, then she turned to take a look around.

There was something strangely familiar about the room, even though it was not quite the rotunda she had expected. The murals on the wall were the ones she knew so very well, but there was a ceiling of dark blue painted with golden stars. The door that should lead to the stairs towards the library was hung with a faint, nearly translucent veil that billowed in a sweet-scented breeze, but she could see sunlight filter through from beyond. Clearly, it led to the outdoors. Lyssa trailed her fingers over the murals as she walked over to the door, curious as to what her mind had conjured as a safe place. Without looking down, she knew her dress had adjusted to the feeling of spring in the air, falling loosely from her shoulders and leaving her arms bare.

Carefully, she pushed the veil aside and walked out onto a balcony — again. But this time, there was no starlit night sky above her, but the shimmering beauty of a sunny day. The sky was more than blue, streaked with green and the hint of stars beyond — the promise of depths as deep as the ocean and just as enticing. The Frostback Mountains stretched wide and brilliant before her, but instead of the endless snow she had come to know, they were green. She saw other buildings within the forests, fortresses, spires springing from the trees, some reaching up into the clouds, of gleaming crystal and entwined with what seemed like huge trees. Among the clouds, shadows hovered, borne by the wind, and from far away, a faint melody wafted towards her. Beneath her, she saw a garden, full of fragrant flowers and little paths leading away from a fountain that painted glittering rainbows into the air. There was an air of peace and beauty all around her, and she smiled as she realized what she saw.

_‘Imagine spires of crystal intertwined with the trees, floating palaces among the clouds... Imagine ancient beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing.’_

It had been one of the first conversations with Solas, back in Haven. Back when she had felt that first spark of connection between them, when she had already felt so safe with him.

She had tried to imagine Arlathan as he described it, but the pictures she had seen back then had been very different. Not nearly as magical and ethereal as what she saw now. But then, _she_ was different, too. She had seen ruins and temples, memories and spirits. She had touched upon the realm of an ancient spirit, and had physically walked the realm of a demon just as ancient. Of course her vision was different now.

Lyssa felt no surprise when she heard steps behind her, only a deep joy. So she would have her treasured moment of happiness after all, even if only in the Fade.

“Vhenan... you’re here.” Solas paused as he saw her, and she chuckled at the look of weary surprise on his face. He stood tall before her, radiant and powerful as she knew him in the Fade.

“Of course I am,” she smiled, giving him her hand and pulling him towards her so she could lay her arms around his neck when he took a step towards her. “Where else would I be, ma’lath?”

He let out a breath after just a second and returned her smile, relaxing into her embrace. “Where else indeed,” he murmured.

For a moment, he just looked at her, the smile lingering in the corner of his mouth before he kissed her. She savored the kiss like few before, the sweet richness of his taste, and the feeling of his lips moving over hers as he pulled her closer, one hand cupping her behind, the other burying itself in her hair. His name escaped her with a sigh as she felt herself swung around and lowered onto some sort of cushioned chaise longue the moment her tongue touched his, and the sound of his groan as he bent her head back for better access vibrated through her.

Lyssa closed her eyes as his lips trailed down her neck, and he disposed of their clothes, passion waking deep within her with every touch. The last remnants of sadness and darkness vanished as she gave herself over to the illusion of the dream, of the happiness it promised. She urged him on with breathless words, every touch a trail of heat on her naked skin. He was as eager as she was, whispering the endearments she had so missed onto her body. There was the faint shimmer of magic beneath his fingertips, and she arched into his touch, remembering the heat of the summer night when he had come to her with paint and magic.

“Solas,” she pleaded as he caught her hands in his and urged her legs apart with his knee, and he kissed her, tugging at her lower lip with his teeth. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she felt him breach her, and heat exploded across her skin when he was sheathed fully inside her. Her arms pulled him close, nails scratching over his back. Lyssa could feel his moan vibrate on her tongue as she bucked against him, her movements sending shivers over him, and his hand on her hip held her. His lips curled against hers at her moaned protest, but she forced herself to hold still, fingers curling over his skin.

Her voice was a hot whisper against his skin, as she panted, “Ar lath ma, ma’—“ Her voice broke with a deep moan as he started to move agonizingly slow, watching her from eyes hooded with lust as she writhed in his grip, until she felt she couldn’t bear it any longer. “Solas, pala em elvar’el... please!”

He had never been able to withstand her pleas. This time was no different, and with a ragged moan, he rocked himself into her with more force. One hand turned her chin to the side so his mouth could taste her neck, the other hooked beneath her knee so he could tug it upwards. The cadence of her moans deepened, and the air shivered around them with her pleasure as he thrust deep into her.

It was only the length of a moment, and it was endless at the same time.

Lyssa lost track of time, of where she ended and he began as she was overcome with sensation and pleasure. She could taste him in the air, and the feeling of his hands on her skin as he coaxed her release from her. His name was a moan on her tongue as he thrust into her through her climax, and groaning his own pleasure into the curve of her neck, he quickened his pace until he came undone himself.

The shade of the sky had changed into a warm gold tinged with red as she held him close, settling into his embrace like so many times before. This was safe. This was happiness. The feel of his body against hers, his arms around her, the steady beating of his heart beneath her hand... even if it was only a dream.

Something tugged at the edge of her consciousness at the thought, but she batted the thought away like a fly. She did not want doubt, not now. Not while she was in his arms, and he lifted her face towards his to kiss her again.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he murmured against her lips, and the air shimmered golden around them.

But there was something about the way he pulled her close, about the feeling of his skin beneath her touch, and suddenly, the breeze caressing their bodies turned cool and made them shiver. She saw Solas frowning as he looked around, and her breath caught in realization.

_Oh no._

Lyssa turned in his arms, laying a hand on his face as she searched his eyes.

"Solas... Is that really you?" she asked before thinking twice about it, and his eyes widened. All of a sudden, they were no longer laying entwined on the silken cushions, but stood in front of each other, fully clothed. She still had her hand on his face, now she let it sink down slowly. Snow began to fall.

"You are here," he said, and she could see the shock in his eyes, the longing and the pain plainly on his face. “Oh vhenan.” For a second, she thought Solas would say something else, and Lyssa took a quick step towards him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face at his shoulder.

Already, the snow reached up to her ankle, falling in thick, icy flakes all around them, obscuring anything else.

His hands touched her back and hair, and she felt his breath against her face, just the tiniest moment before she knew what he would do next.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but Lyssa didn’t let go.

"No, please,” she pleaded, holding on to him, to his warmth and love, “not—“

* * *

Lyssa woke up with a start.

“Not yet,” she whispered into the darkness.

It took her a moment to adjust to the harsh reality of her room, to the hardness of the edges, to the shallowness of the shadows. It was still dark outside, dawn still a few hours away, and a shiver ran over her at the coldness in the air. Lyssa realized that she had at one point during the night pushed the blanket from her bed. Slowly, carefully, she reached down for it, pulling it up and over herself. She could still feel the wetness between her thighs, speaking of the passion she had just experienced, she had just _shared with him._

Lyssa trembled, and with an effort, she snuggled deeper beneath the blanket. _A shared dream._ She buried her face in her hands, willing her breath to slow down before she turned onto her side, curling into herself.

Of course, she had explored the Fade with Solas now and then. But they had never shared a dream that wasn't shaped completely and willingly. And never without meaning to.

And then such a dream as this...

A shuddering breath escaped her, and she stared unblinking into the night. It had been weeks since Crestwood, and after their first disastrous conversation, they hadn’t really talked again. But if anything, the look on his face as he realized what was going on told her that nothing had changed. Neither his feelings nor his decision. Her heart clenched painfully, and she quickly wiped a hand over her eyes before she bit her lip and tucked the blanket closer around herself.

Lyssa didn't cry. But when Cole came this time, she let him hold her hand until the morning dawned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elvish in this chapter - well, it's dirty. 😏 [Go find the translation here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7826624), if you want to ;)


	8. Heartbroken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of this part - I'm gonna take a little break and give myself and my wonderful beta readers a bit of time off from the story during the holidays. The next part, Embers, will start early in the new year, probably mid- to end-January. I am so happy that you were with me so far, your comments and kudos really make all the difference. ♥ Thank you!!
> 
> I wish you all very happy holidays and a great new year, and I hope you'll come back when this story goes on :D Have a little sneak in the Chapter Notes at the end!

The night was nearly over, and the candles had almost burned down, but Solas was still hunched over his desk in the rotunda. One after another had wished him good-night as they left the tower to go to bed, and the darkness outside deepened. Solas barely stifled a yawn and leaned back in his chair to stretch. The disgusting tea that helped him stay awake and focussed was long gone, and he knew that if he wanted to get any real work done tomorrow, he would have to get at least an hour or two of rest, and soon. His muscles were stiff and groaned in protest as he stretched, standing to walk a few paces through his workshop.

Despite the fatigue he could feel in every inch of his body, he was reluctant to return to his chamber. Not after what had happened the night before. He still could not understand how he could have lost his focus so entirely that he had not realized that it had actually been _her_ in his dream, not just a figment created by his own desires, his longing, and his grief. He had woken in a turmoil of emotions. The Fade was the one place where he had always been safe, in control, and he had lost himself. He had allowed himself to be weak, creating a haven for them both that could never be real. He had allowed himself to give in to her smile, throwing all caution overboard and just lose himself in the dream, in wish-fulfillment, in _her_.

Except it hadn’t been just a dream. It had been _real_ in a way most people wouldn’t understand, and he still felt the echo of every touch and every kiss, the taste of her very essence in every cell of his being.

And he still felt her loss.

The shock and surprise when she had realized where she was, the sliver of hope as she had looked at him was still haunting him. He could still see the plea in her eyes in that second before he had woken her, the way she had reached for him. His heart clenched at the vivid memory. Was he going to have to hurt her over and over again?

As if in unspoken agreement, they had avoided each other today. He had heard her speak to Varric briefly, but she had not come in, and he had stayed away from the communal meals where he would have met her. There could come no good from addressing it, just questions leading to more grief and hurt. So he would take his own advice and harden his heart, upholding the careful and distanced professionalism he had put between them like a barrier.

He had to.

With that in mind, he resolved to go to bed after all. Now that he knew they instinctively found each other in the Fade, even without meaning to, he could take precautions. It would not happen again.

Solas wiped a hand over his face, then he returned to his desk and collected the papers he had spread all over the table, sorting them and putting them away for the following day. But just when he was reaching over the table for the candle to blow it out, his elbow connected with a stack of books that he had set up at the edge of his desk. The contact tipped them over, and several books fell to the floor with soft thumps. Solas shook his head with a tired sigh as he put the candle away again and walked around the table to collect them. He was nearly done when he took a leather-bound volume that was smaller than the other books. It had fallen open, and Solas realized too late that it was not one of the library tomes for his research. It was his sketchbook that he had carefully avoided since Crestwood. With a sharp intake of breath, he paused in his movements, staring at the open page that was filled with a portrait of _her_. She smiled over her shoulder at him as she braided her hair, her eyes warm and her face soft and happy. 

Heavily, he sat down in his chair again, his hand tenderly touching the page. He should just close it and put it back, he knew. Better yet, he should put it away entirely, somewhere where he wouldn’t stumble upon it by accident. Or destroy it for good. And yet, he found himself unable to. The tips of his fingers traced the outline of his sketch. His heart clenched as he saw the beloved smile on her lips. Solas closed his eyes as he remembered the morning he had drawn this, still naked in her bed, the early sun illuminating her golden skin.

_“What are you doing, Solas?” she asked as she caught him looking at her, and he smiled._

_“I’m sketching you,” he answered, and she laughed, joy dancing in her eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks._

_“Like this? I’m not even properly dressed.”_

_“You are perfect, believe me, vhenan.” He meant every word._

_Her smile widened, and her eyes softened. “You’ve always been a sweet-talker.”_

Carefully, Solas turned the pages. More sketches of her, sometimes several on one page — sleeping, concentrated, distracted, blushing. He remembered each moment when he had felt compelled to take out his pen, quickly bringing the moment to paper to capture its magic. It had started when she had still been unconscious after the explosion at the Temple, as a study of the Anchor. Medicinal, anatomical, distant sketches of her hand and the glowing light in her palm that should have killed her but that she somehow managed to contain. But after she had woken and touched his face, _touching_ him with that look of utter trust, something in him had stirred. The first picture of her face was her weak but open smile. He remembered how peaceful she had looked afterwards when she had slipped back into unconsciousness. After that, there were those sketches he had made from afar. Her expressive face that showed her emotions so clearly had made her a good study. At least that was what he had told himself back then when he had found himself returning to capturing her likeness in his sketchbook.

She didn’t smile in those early pictures. There was a perpetual seriousness in her features, barely veiled distrust and fear, even as she held her chin high and proud. So brave. His finger touched the study of her profile he drew after she had held her ground in the discussion of whether they would go to Redcliffe, or to Therinfal Redoubt. He could still see how Cullen had tried to argue, hands raised, and she had flinched, her hand twitching towards her staff as if she feared he would attack her. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had seen her flinch and taken a guilty step back. But despite her obvious anxiousness around Cullen, she hadn’t backed down. 

The next sketch had been done after their first walk together in Haven. There had been that moment when she had looked up at him, pure delight in her face after he had offered to tell her more about the things he had learned. It had been the first time he had seen her so open, so relaxed, and it had touched his heart in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

Slowly, he turned the page, a pressed elfroot flower falling out. It was one of those she had collected on their first trip outside Haven, looking content for the first time since she had woken. Carefully, he put it next to his sketchbook.

The smiles started to appear more frequently afterwards, their many journeys through Southern Thedas suiting her. There she was, concentrating over a potion she created. Another sketch showed her in motion in a battle. Another page, her head slightly tilted as she listened, all of her attention focused on the other person. Thinking, reading, watching, learning. A whole page of her bathed in light, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright as she had smiled at him after their first kiss. Another one mirroring the pure happiness on her face as he had confessed his feelings to her. A lock of her hair in between the pages, a feather, a stray leaf, another flower - collections from their journeys.

He hadn’t been able to capture the blissful, content satisfaction after a shared night or the rare cheekiness that she so seldom showed, but there was the curve of the small of her back and a sleepy smile, her hair spilling over her naked back and shoulders. And the warmth in her eyes as she looked at him with love and trust. Every line he had drawn told a story, _their_ story - from the first time their eyes met until it was a love story.

But there was something missing.

Slowly, as if without meaning to, Solas took up the pen and started to sketch. He had drawn her so often that it came naturally to him to create her likeness in the way her eyes tilted upwards and in the fullness of her lips. But this time, they weren’t smiling. His pen didn’t falter as he recreated the utter shock and disbelief he had caused when he had put duty above his happiness. Above _her_ happiness. Another sketch of her, bare-faced and beautiful, tears in her eyes, heartbroken. He lingered at that, his hand trembling as he touched the page, then he collected himself and turned to another free page. Her face half-turned, eyes cast down, half in the shadows. She had come back, scarred and bruised. But worse than the injuries had been the look in her eyes. The eyes that wouldn’t meet his, the haunted, hurt expression she wore, the grief. His heart clenched as he looked at the drawing, and he slowly breathed out through the nose. He would never forgive himself for causing it, even if he knew it was necessary.

Through her, this world had become tangible, real. It scared him more than he liked to admit to himself. Because if this world was real, if the people were real even without their connection to the Fade, what he had to do was another crime beyond comprehension. But he knew that he still had to do it, he still had to right the wrong he caused.

And so, he knew that leaving her had been the right choice. Despite the depth of her grief now, it would be less than if he had let this go on. Once she realized who he was and what he had to do, she would understand that it had been better this way. This way, she had a chance to move on, to find happiness for as long as possible.

As for him… he had willingly forgone any change of happiness when he had left her.

But he had seen the fire in her heart, the indomitable focus of her spirit, and he knew she would come back from the pain he had caused. She would keep on fighting, with or without him.

_Without him._

_As would he. Without her. _

The thought echoed through his mind, and his throat closed. _Without her_. Sometimes, even now, it was hard to imagine going on without her. She had shown him a world beyond the nightmare. After his centuries of fighting, of death and cruelty and pain, after his decision born of grief and rage that had doomed the world as he knew it, and after the long sleep that had followed, it was her that had managed to truly wake him. She had seen him while he had still felt like he was walking through a never-ending fog, and her smile had slowly but surely coaxed the sun out. She had been the one person to touch his heart and give him peace. She had looked behind the mask and still loved him. 

His heart beat painfully against his sternum as he remembered the way she had hummed to herself while she caressed his face as they lay beneath a starry sky, the way she had smiled at him, the way she had kissed him, loved him… 

He stared at the pages filled with her image, the scent of the dried flowers mixed with the faint smoke of the candles, and the pen dropped to the table as the pain gripped him with cruel intensity. His fingers clenched into fists as he struggled to keep his composure, his eyes closed, a tremble running over his body, and he acted before the thought had formed completely in his mind. His arm wiped over the desk, a snarl falling from his lips. Books and pens clattered to the ground, wax spraying over the carpet as the candles flew through the rotunda, and the inkpot split on the stones, the black liquid seeping into the cracks of the floor. His sketchbook lay face down, hiding the story told by his drawings, but that did nothing to ease the roaring urge to scream or run or set everything aflame.

Or fall on his knees before her and ask for forgiveness.

For a desperate second, he allowed himself the fantasy of her taking him into her arms and of a future with her; then he forced himself to dismiss it and let it go.

His head fell into his hands, and he breathed through clenched teeth, a shudder running over his whole body. It took him a while to find his control again, and when he slowly unclenched his hands, he found his eyes wet. He wiped them meticulously, straightening as he did so.

“You really are the dumbest person I have ever met,” Dorian’s voice made his head snap up, his composure and mask falling with well-practiced ease back in place like a mantle he put back on. The Tevinter stood in the doorway, a mixture of disbelief and pity on his face. Ignoring both his own shame at the open display of emotion and the man who shook his head at him, Solas slowly and methodically took up the books he had wiped from the desk and put them back.

“I was under the impression that the tower was empty already,” he said stiffly, his jaw clenched, and brushed some dust from the leather binding of one of the books. “My apologies if I disturbed you.”

Dorian only scoffed. “I was in the Herald’s Rest, so you haven’t. It seems I came back just in time for your little… outburst.” He waved a hand through the air, his eyes fixed on Solas, but he made no move to come closer or help him. Solas stiffened slightly, but he gave no answer. Carefully, he took his sketchbook from the floor and smoothed two or three pages that had been folded as it fell, put the elfroot flower and her lock of hair back in, then closed it without dwelling on the face that looked up at him from the paper.

“Well, at least now I know that she was right when she said that your feelings weren’t what made you leave her.” There was a sharpness in Dorian’s voice that made Solas pause in his effort to clean up. He wasn’t surprised about what Dorian said; Lyssa had always been one of the few people able to read him. And even if not, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to pretend convincingly that he no longer loved her to anyone. Without answering, he started to collect the inkpot shards and put them away. Dorian pushed himself away from the wall and came towards Solas.

“Why, Solas? Why do this to you both if your feelings aren’t the issue? You obviously still love each other, and nobody here but yourself is keeping the two of you apart! Why not take the chance at happiness you have?” There was compassion in Dorian’s voice and an urgency that made Solas look up. The human’s eyes burned into his until he could no longer bear it. He looked away, keeping his hands occupied by rearranging the things he had collected from the floor. “Not everyone has such a chance, you know,” Dorian added surprisingly soft. “You should not squander it.”

There was a long silence, stretching between them as Solas struggled to answer.

“It is not something I can discuss, Dorian,” he finally said, less regal and detached than he had intended to sound.

Dorian gave a short, humorless laugh, the disappointment and lack of comprehension dripping from his voice. “Of course not.” For a long moment, neither said anything, and finally, Dorian added bitterly, “I just hope the reason you’re doing this is worth it.”

_So do I,_ Solas thought, interrupting his own thoughts with a fervent, _Yes!_ But he kept silent. After another long, tense silence, Dorian just shook his head and went back towards the stairs, muttering something intelligible under his breath.

He was nearly out of sight when Solas called, “Dorian.”

The Tevinter stopped, slowly turning with raised eyebrows.

Solas had to clear his throat before he could speak with his usual composure. “I would be grateful if you don’t tell her what you saw.”

Dorian’s face hardened, and it took him a moment before he answered acidly, “Of course I won’t. Unlike you, I don’t want to cause her pain.”

Before he could stop himself, Solas exclaimed, “I don’t want to—” He interrupted himself, teeth clacking as he closed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw working as he looked down at the sketchbook on his desk. “I never intended to cause her pain,” he finally said softly, but even knowing it was true, it sounded hollow. He looked up, but Dorian’s eyes were hard.

“Doesn’t really make a difference, does it?” the Tevinter just murmured and left, his steps echoing faintly in the stairwell.

_No,_ Solas thought as he slowly, meticulously cleaned the rest of the mess he had caused.

It didn’t make a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sneak Peak for Embers - Coming in 2020_
> 
> “If Mythal, All-Mother and Protector, can just look past the People and plot her own revenge, uncaring that we are slaughtered like animals, who says that the others are any different?” She trailed her fingers over her forehead and down her nose, along the lines where she knew her vallaslin had been. “She was said to be the one who kept the others in check, to be the one dealing out justice instead of rage and vengeance. If this is how her justice looks, what did their rage look like? Maybe imprisoning them all was the only right thing to do. Maybe the Dread Wolf was right.”
> 
> Her voice had gotten louder as she spoke, more agitated, and now, her eyes settled back on Solas with burning intensity. “Was he right, Solas?” she demanded. “Was Fen’harel right?”


End file.
